


Adamantine

by kissmelikeapirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Angst, F/M, Terrorism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:49:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8190686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmelikeapirate/pseuds/kissmelikeapirate
Summary: *Abandoned* He doesn’t need a partner. She doesn’t need a friend. But when rookie Emma Swan is assigned to work with Field Agent Killian Jones, sparks fly. In more ways than one.Seven years after the tragic death of his fiancee, Killian Jones is assigned the newest agent in the office. But this agent doesn’t work well with others, preferring to strike out on his own and with Emma Swan determined to do things by the book, he finds himself hurtling into conflict with the stubborn blonde. Their sparring is interrupted by the sudden reappearance of the man who caused his first love’s death - and Emma Swan may just be the right person to help finally bring him to justice.





	1. Chapter 1

  
  


It was a perfect Boston summer day. The sun was bright enough to even test the limits of the dark tint of his sunglasses; the cloudless sky, a perfect pale blue. Killian Jones quickly made his way along the busy sidewalk, dodging passersby as he carried a small cardboard tray holding two steaming cups of coffee.

Rounding a corner, Killian smiled when he saw that the building that he was heading to was less than 50 yards away. He picked up his pace-

And then, without warning, a blast ripped through the pristine glass frontage. He felt for a second like someone had hit him with a sledgehammer, his jaw tightened, his whole body vibrated with sensation, the tray of coffee was flung in the air as he raised his hands to protect his face from the flying shards of glass that began to hurtle towards him. A piercing pain shot through both ears, accompanied by a ringing noise that muffled any other sound.

He found himself crumpled on the ground, his whole body in pain-

Then… blackness.

* * *

_ Seven Years Later _

Dr. Archie Hopper lay back in his chair, eyeing his patient carefully as he held a silver pen expectantly over his notebook. “So how has your sleeping pattern been? Still finding it hard to sleep through the night?”

“Sometimes,” Killian huffed. He folded his arms defensively across his chest. 

“How often?”

“A couple of times a week. But as I’ve told you numerous times, I’ve never needed much sleep.”

“Hmm. Even still, I’d like you to reconsider the medication, Killian, it’s an excellent way for you to settle your serotonin levels and help you rest.” The wiry-haired doctor fixed him with an earnest look and Killian had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, his gaze wandering to the clock, counting the minutes until he could leave. God he hated these sessions.

“What about your mood? Have you been having any anxious or depressive thoughts?”

“No.”

“Any feelings of despair or hopelessness?”

“ _ Right about bloody now _ ,” he whispered under his breath.

“Pardon?”

“I said no,” he sighed.

“Hmm...”

Killian stared at the ceiling of the small office as he heard Dr. Hopper scribble down a few notes. The fan above him whirled lazily, seemingly without purpose. Killian was well acquainted with it and every other detail of this office, having spent an hour in its confines at least once a month for the past several years.

And every time it was the same. Same questions. Same answers.

“When will you be discharging me?”

Dr. Hopper placed down his pen and laid his hands atop the notepad. “Well Killian, that’s a hard question to answer.”

“I’ve been made to attend these bloody meetings for years now. I think it should be quite clear that I am perfectly well.”

“Well first, you know that even as a regular field agent you would be required to meet with me at least once a quarter in any case. And second, yes, to the naked eye you look very well. But I’m still concerned that after all this time, you still find it difficult to open up about the incident.”

Killian’s fists clenched and his nostrils flared.

“I can talk about it just fine,” he grimaced through gritted teeth.

“The facts, yes. But it’s your emotional state which concerns me.”

Killian threw a glance at the doctor, jutting out his jaw as he gave his best withering look. The doctor looked back down at his notes.

“How is your personal life Killian? Are you dating anyone?”

“I fail to see how that is relevant to perform my job .”

Dr Hopper interlaced his fingers. “Look, Killian. We can try and make progress today, or you can keep up this defensive attitude towards me and then I will see you again to repeat this next month.”

Quickly, Killian licked his lips, his body stiffening. “No dating. No women.”

“What about… um, what was her name- Belle? You mentioned she’d joined your team.”

Killian chuckled, “And you think that my duty is to hit on every new agent?”

With a sigh, Dr Hopper shook his head. “Of course not. But I know this job affords very little time to meet a partner outside of work. Why do you think I get invited to so many weddings working here?”

Tired of this line of questioning, Kilian sat himself up and rested his palms on his thighs. “Look Archie, I get what you are trying to do. But I’m not looking for that. I’m not looking for-” he shrugged, “Anything. I just want to do my job, go home and go to the pub to watch a bit of footie now and again.”

“Milah-”

“Is gone,” Killian spat. “And I’ve worked through my anger and grief many times over now. Just because I don’t want to talk about it with you does not mean I am some kind of loose cannon. I’m happy now.”

The last, blatant lie tripped of his tongue with such ease that for a second Killian could almost believe it. He could see straight away, however, that Archie Hopper was in no way convinced. He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t care. Life has been just pure existence for so long now he had forgotten any other way to be.

“Okay,” Archie nodded, giving Killian a thin smile. “Um, yes… So, your partner - Smee - he’s retiring this month?”   
“Today actually,” Killian nodded. He glanced again at the clock. It was after three. They had a department meeting at four to say goodbye to Smee before they all decamped to O’Brien’s to drink the bar dry.

“And how do you feel about that? You’ve worked together for over five years now?”

Killian shrugged, “What am I supposed to feel? He’s the one who aggravated that leg injury in training. If I could take early retirement at 55 I’d do the same.”

“No, I mean how do you think this will affect you?”

“I guess it means I’m getting a new partner.”

“And?”

“And-” Killian hesitated. He’d been dwelling on this particular point for exactly those two months since it was announced that William Smee’s injury was too bad for him to continue working for the Bureau. He actually liked Smee. Well, as much as he liked anyone nowadays. They had their routine down to perfection - Smee was good at the background stuff - paperwork mainly, making sure their records were up to date and liaising with other departments. Killian preferred to be on the front line, where the action happened. He was the one staking out suspects at 3am in the freezing Boston weather or meeting informants in shady back alleys. 

But now all that was going to change and the prospect of a new partner was unsettling, to say the least. “And I guess I have to wait and find out who Director Mills feels fit to work with me. It’s not like I get a choice.”   
“Do you feel capable of adapting to someone new after so long?”

“I’ll make it work,” he quipped.

“Hmm…” Archie hummed again.

The doctor turned away to his laptop and a minute later he was signing a script which he handed over to Killian. “Sleeping tablets, please take them if you need to. I’ll see you again next month, my secretary will email you the details.”

Killian stood, folding the paper and creasing it between his thumb and forefinger. “I look forward to it,” he said with a flat, false smile. Standing, he made for the door when Archie stopped him and held out a business card.

“And this is my new cell number. You can call me anytime you wish. Please do.”

Killian gave him a brief nod.

“And good luck with the new partner.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.

He exited the office, pulling on his jacket as he made his way along the corridor to the elevator bank. He paused at a trash can, quickly tearing up the paper and card in his hands and tossing them into it.

He didn’t need pills, or more talking. 

He didn’t need anything.

* * *

The following Monday morning Killian had just about recovered from the excess of rum he had consumed at Smee’s leaving celebration. Smee was a man who liked his drink as much as his now ex partner and the two of them had been left propping up the bar until well past the closing hour of 2 a.m..

He was going to miss him. Smee was just about the only bloke in the office who could get away with taking the piss out of Killian’s accent. And he was the most down to earth agent in the department. Sure, David Nolan and Graham Humbert were closer in age to Killian, but he felt an affinity with the old seadog. He supposed it was because he was an old soul himself. Still a handful of years away from his 40th birthday, he’d experienced enough to live life twice over and then some. Smee had always appreciated that. He’d never pried into his private life and he’d never asked him about his past. Smee had also started his career in the Navy, the current occupation of Killian’s older brother, Liam, and Killian himself had always loved being on the water. So when they had first been assigned to each other, it hadn’t taken long for a fishing weekend to be arranged and the two bonded over hours spent off the Boston shore.

But now he was free to move back up to his hometown in New Hampshire and live his life as freely as he wished. Killian envied him in a way. Not that he wished to retire - he’d go stir crazy without his job - but instead it was the freedom he craved that wasn’t afforded under the scrutiny of the FBI. He always had to watch his step and think of how his actions affected his chain of command. Not to mention the continuous psychological evaluations.

Still a little weary from sleep, he sighed when he received the call that his new partner had arrived and he needed to come and meet them at Director Mills’ office. Now or never, he thought as he left his own small office, taking a glance at Smee’s bare desk, before he headed for the stairwell to take the two flights of stairs upwards. His mind wandered as he walked. 

He  wondered who he would be paired with. Working in domestic terrorism was a tough assignment for any agent and they only assigned the most qualified cadets with the strongest credentials. It would probably be some snot-nosed high flier. Or maybe someone who had transferred from the armed forces, like Smee. He could cope with that, he guessed. The last thing he wanted was to have to work with a bright-eyed, idealistic recent graduate of the academy who wanted to save the world, one terrorist at a time, single-handedly. They were almost always like that to begin with.

He reached the glass door of the director’s office sooner than he would have liked, pausing at the desk in front of it. Her secretary smiled at him and he gave her a nod in reply. “Can I go in?”

“She’s ready,” Ashley replied, barely hiding the way she looked him over as he strode past. It wasn’t the first time she had openly ogled him and she had even tried to slip him her number a few times. Some men would have taken advantage of a 25-year old secretary showing such blatant interest, but Killian just found it made him uncomfortable. He did as he always did - gave her a brief, not-too-friendly smile and walked away. He’d learned a long time ago not to mix business with pleasure, not that he was into the pleasure side of things that much now. 

He pushed open the heavy glass door to see Regina sitting behind her desk. She truly had the best office in the building; situated on a corner, with stunning views of both the bay and the ocean. The woman may have been a bitch sometimes but he knew she had worked damn hard to get to this level in the bureau and he didn’t begrudge her this luxury. Even when he thought of his own vista that included a Turkish gyro restaurant and a back alley full of dumpsters.

“Ah, Killian. You are on time.  _ For once _ ,” Regina smiled. She had this way of smiling which was at once bright, but also cold as ice and she never failed to let him know when he had displeased her.

Killian replied with his usual smirk, “Indeed I am.”

He was three steps into the room when he noticed the figure sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk turning to face him. It was a woman; a blonde with her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, an oxblood red leather jacket covering her upper half.

“Well, I’d like you to meet your new partner, Ms. Emma Swan. Swan, this is Killian Jones, one of our most  _ dedicated  _ agents.”

Her sarcasm was evident, but Killian was too intrigued by the woman who was standing to greet him to bother reacting.

In all his musings, it had never occurred to him that his new partner might be female. Regina had in fact refused to give him any details, not even a name, which led him to believe it would be another male agent. 

Momentarily surprised, he recovered enough to reach out his hand. “Swan,” he nodded.

She had a firm handshake and warm hands. 

“Jones.”

They took a second to assess each other. She wasn’t some fresh college kid, she was a little older, wore the signs of life on her face. But that didn’t take away from how attractive she was, with high cheekbones and sea-green eyes. For her part, her brow furrowed a little as she studied him.

_ So this was Killian Jones _ . She hadn’t been given much more than a name to go from prior to this meeting but she was instantly drawn to the distant look in his blue eyes. It was one she knew, that she herself wore often. He was not what she expected… not that she knew what to really expect. But she thought he’d be older. Less handsome. Less brooding.

“Shall we sit?” she finally said.

“Hmm,” he nodded, his focus shifting to Director Mills.

Once they were both settled, Regina pulled out a manila file and opened it out on her desk.

“So, Agent Swan, Agent Jones, you are going to be assigned to each other for an initial trial of one year. Ms. Swan will be within her probation period for that duration and should things go well this pairing could be extended. Is that understood?”

They both nodded. Emma briefly looked across at Killian. He sat with his arms resting on the wings of his chair, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Swan, you will be sharing an office with Jones, I take it Smee’s belongings have already been sorted?”

“Yes,” Killian said, “There are some boxes down in the lobby that he will be collecting later in the week, but his desk is clear and has been restocked.”

“Excellent,” Regina clucked, looking down at the paperwork in front of her. “Ms. Swan has already had her induction so you are dismissed. I’ve emailed to Killian a list of some other departments you need to meet with over the coming days. I’d like to meet with you both again at the end of the week to assess how you are settling in.”

“No problem,” Emma said as she made to stand. She was itching to get started. “Thank you Ms. Mills.”

“Director Mills,” the older woman corrected.

“Um, yeah,” she smiled, “Director Mills.” She pushed back her chair, mentally chastising herself. Way to get on the wrong side of your boss on the first day. Cheeks reddening a little, Emma was thankful when then the frosted door closed behind her, Killian slipping though just before the lock clicked into place.

“Trying to get rid of me already?”

“Oh, shit, sorry,” she muttered as she noticed how she had pretty much closed the door in his face. “I’m just so-”

“Nervous?” he offered, watching as her brow scrunched up and her nose wrinkled.

“Something like that.” she muttered. “That was pretty brief, I was expecting… more?”

“Regina doesn’t beat around the bush.  Why use ten words when two will do type. You’ll get used to her.”

It was only then that Emma noticed he had an accent. His tones were soft and neutral - British but she couldn’t place exactly where. He wasn’t meeting her eyes, instead looking past Regina’s secretary and down the corridor .

“Um, lead the way?” she asked.   
“Of course,” he breezed, striding back to the stairwell. He perhaps should have taken the elevator, but he wasn’t really in the mood for sharing a small space with this woman right at that moment. Well, smaller than his office, that is. He kept himself ahead of her, taking two steps at a time, his longer legs giving him a speed advantage that Swan in her heeled boots managed to almost match. Stepping into the hallway when back on his floor, he gave her a queer look. 

“You’re fast.”

She smirked. Men always were so shocked by how quickly she could move in heels. “A skill I learned courtesy of my last job.”

He tilted his head, a brow furrowed.

“I worked in bail bonds,” she explained flatly.

“Oh,” he hummed when it became clear she was not going to give further details on that particular revelation. He was surprised. Bail bonds to the FBI was an interesting career move. “This way.”

Halfway along the hallway of anonymous, oak doors he paused in front of one. Emma waited as he pulled out a bunch of keys. The nameplate outside said ‘Killian Jones - Special Investigations’. Below it there was a blank space, a little less faded than its surroundings. That would be where her name would go, she assumed.

“Special Investigations?” she asked as the door opened and Killian beckoned her inside. “I thought we were Domestic Terrorism?”

“That we are, love. But our overall department is Special Investigations. And it sounds a little bit more pleasant, yes?”

“Sure,” she said, gritting her teeth against the endearment. She wasn’t anyone’s love. (Or pet. Or darling. Or anything along those lines.)

She looked around the office. It wasn’t huge, enough space for two desks, a couple of filing cabinets and there was a small window overlooking the city streets below. It had that salty, masculine smell that lingers in a place that’s been shut up for too long, but other than that it was pretty clean, if lacking any personal touches.

“Do you mind if I open the window?” she asked as Killian was propping the door open.

“No,” he said. She breezed past him and left in her wake the clean scent of soap and simple perfume. It seemed to suit her, he thought absentmindedly as he left the door ajar. It made him feel a bit less claustrophobic now that he was sharing this place with a virtual stranger.

Emma peeled off her leather jacket and tossed it on the chair behind the empty desk. The window was behind Killian’s (only recognizable as the occupied desk by the pile of paper in the intray and the half-drunk coffee in the ‘hello sailor’ mug that sat on its surface. She’d raised an eyebrow at that). The window was stiff and it took a few hard tugs to pull it open, until finally a blast of cool February air came drifting into the room.

“Better,” she muttered. Looking back, she saw Killian was waiting for her to move so he could get to his desk. “Oh,” she said, quickly sidestepping her way towards the empty chair where she had left her jacket. 

“No need to apologize.”

She took a seat as he settled behind his own desk, turning his attention to his laptop. She waited a few minutes and when he hadn’t spoken she said, “So, is there anything I should be doing?”

“You won’t have your laptop and access until communications have cleared you this afternoon,” he said.

“Until then?” 

He looked up. He seemed irritated, a flash of annoyance tightening his expression. A moment later he was tossing over a file. “This is our biggest case right now.”

“Okay…”

So, he wasn’t the warmest of people. Go figure. He was very handsome, so he had to compensate with some other huge flaw. They always did.

Killian clicked through his emails as Emma opened the file he had had given her. His focus kept shifting from the screen in front of him to the blonde figure hunched over the desk perpendicular to his. She’d taken off her jacket and he could see that beneath she wore a soft white sweater. It made her look a little tan, he thought absentmindedly, his eyes lingering on the scoop neck and the small, silver pendant suspended above her decolletage. While she placed her elbows on the desk in front of her and was staring intently at the file. She seemed to have taken the hint that he wasn’t much for small talk.  

As he watched her, he considered what he already knew. The answer was not very much. But she did seem keen and maybe he could use that to his advantage, have her take care of the files while he concentrated on the more interesting work. That would work. In any case, he was the senior agent and he called the shots. 

As usual, when he left his desk he had been deluged by correspondence. Most of it was just generic fare: meeting invites and uninteresting case updates. But then a message caught his eye. It was from Felix, a contact who had been feeding him intel about a group he was tracking, in exchange for Killian making some minor drug offenses disappear. His eyes scanned the text. Felix was able to contact him by texting a proxy number which then was forwarded to his email. It seemed that he was at an unplanned meeting and there was just enough time to get to his location. This was excellent news.

“I’ve got to head out, Swan,” he announced, reaching for his own leather coat that hung on a peg adjacent to the window.

“Out?” Emma asked, confused. She had been engrossed in the paperwork in front of her. The Bureau was tracking a national white supremacist group that had been making threats to carry out racist attacks. One of their main chapters was in Boston, though they never met in the same location twice. Their leader had a nickname ‘Peter Pan’, due to the fact he looked so young: he was in his late 20s but from his pictures Emma could see he would pass for almost ten years younger. The group was named The Brotherhood, but the agents had started to refer to them as The Lost Boys, given their leader’s name. She’d chuckled at that - so the FBI did have a sense of humor.

“I’ve got a lead,” he explained.

“Then shouldn’t I be going with you? I am your partner.”

Killian paused. He picked up the bag that contained his long-lensed camera and swung it over his shoulder. She did have a point. But the last thing he wanted to do now was babysit a rookie on her first stakeout. This was the best chance at identifying more members of the group than he’d had in weeks.

“It’s really a one man job.”

“Then I’ll watch. And learn.”

With a sigh, he adjusted the strap that was digging into his shoulder. If he didn’t take her, he was pretty damn sure Regina would know and having the director on his back was the last thing he needed right now.

“Fine, love” he grumbled, “But so you’re warned, it’s just a stakeout. Could go on for several hours.”

“No problem,” she snipped.

And it really wasn’t. Working in bail bonds, she had become well-acquainted with the interior of her own car, having spent many hours waiting out jumpers. A few hours would be a breeze.

“Alright then, follow me.”

The anonymous, black sedan that was assigned to Killian - well, them now - was parked on the lowest level of the parking garage beneath the building. Killian slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition.

“So I take it you’re designated driver?” she quipped as she took the passenger seat.

Letting out a soft huff, he turned to her. Of course he was driving - he was the one who knew where to go.  “Do you want to drive? I mean, if this is some feminist thing-”

“Feminist thing?” she shrilled, on full alert to give him a piece of her mind, until her more measured self kicked in and reminded her that it was her first day and there was no point burning bridges with this man just yet. If he was a jerk she’d find other ways to deal with him. “No, damn, just- okay, just drive. Forget I said anything.”

He pulled out of the parking spot, a tinge of regret making him frown. Perhaps he had been a little harsh. It wasn’t like he was actively trying to fall out with the blonde.

“You can drive once they process your license,” he said by way of explanation.

“Uhuh,” she nodded, pursing her lips as the garage door rolled open and let in the scant midday sunshine, not wanting to extend that thread of conversation any further. 

Killian sighed and turned his attention back to the road, turning on the radio to cover up the ensuing tense silence that fell between them.

As the car rolled through the city streets, she reminded herself that all she had to do was make it through her probation. If this Jones guy was determined to make things awkward, she could handle that. She’d handled many a worse situation.

She still had to pinch herself that this was actually happening. After six years of night school to get her degree, followed by the most intense series of interviews she had ever experienced to be accepted into the graduate trainee program. All in all, the best part of a decade working all the hours in the day - and then some - all to achieve this. And she’d finally done it.

Inside her jacket, she felt the hard edges of her badge from where it sat in her pocket. Yes, it was real. She was good enough - better than good. She’d proved that working her ass off in training and graduating top of her class. But no one had handed her anything on a plate and she knew that this was going to be no different. Now she had to prove herself. - belligerent partner or not.

They didn’t have to travel far until they were in a quieter, more rundown part of the city. The people on the sidewalks became sparser and empty lots were as frequent as occupied ones. Finally, Killian pulled up into a side street, about two blocks away from a large warehouse.

“Is this it?” she asked, craning her neck to get a better view.

“Aye,” he said.

Killian focused on preparing the camera as Emma undid her seatbelt buckle and slid back her chair. She stretched out her legs and watched him out of the side of her vision as he checked the memory card and took a few test shots.

It was quiet in the car now the engine was off and the radio was turned down so low to be almost inaudible. The traffic in the area was light and few pedestrians passed them. Emma felt herself get a little antsy, her foot tapping against the base of the footwell. She decided to distract herself by asking Killian a question.

“So, the accent...” she began.

“British, moved here when I was 14, naturalized citizen,” he reeled off. He’d had to explain his origins so many times he had the speil memorized. 

“Oh,” she nodded. “Cool.” From the way he had stiffened a little as he talked Emma figured that there was a little bit more to that particular story than he was letting on. But he wasn’t exactly being open with her right now so she filed that away as something to dig into at a later time.

“How long do you think we have?” she asked.

Killian glanced at his watch. “It started about a half hour ago.”

“Then I’m going to get us some coffee.”

Before he could say anything else, Emma was out of the car. She’d spotted a 7-11 a few blocks back. Sure the coffee was awful, but it would make being stuck in a car with Jones a lot more palatable.

Emma slammed the door behind her as he was twisting the lens into place. It startled him a little and he almost dropped the camera. Part of him had wanted to remind her about being discreet, but she was new and no one knew her face yet, so it was unlikely that her making a coffee run would jeopardize the situation. 

But it wasn’t like he needed a coffee yet. It was barely 11 and he was in that comfortable zone in between meals where he was alert enough to cope without a caffeine fix. He doubted she was in need either. It seemed his standoffish attitude was working. Without much effort, he was carving out a wedge between them. She couldn’t help but pick up on the fact that he wasn’t interested in small talk or pandering to her needs. He would get her through her probation period and that’s about where his obligations to her ended. He wasn’t looking to become friends with her.

Emma found the convenience store quickly and tried to overlook its general poor levels of cleanliness as she filled two paper cups with thick coffee. She had no idea how Killian took his, so she stuffed her pockets with a handful of sweetener and creamer, grabbing a packet of cashews from the service counter as an afterthought.

As she walked back, she developed her strategy. She’d be helpful. She’d be accommodating. But she’d be no pushover. If he was going to continue on this path of obstruction, she’d make damn sure it didn’t affect her results.

Nothing was stopping her. Not even a sour faced partner with a chip on his shoulder.

Back in the car, Killian had perched the lens of the camera on the dashboard and was watching the door of the warehouse through the viewfinder. No movement, but that was unsurprising. Some of these meetings lasted for hours. Emma returned promptly, two coffees in a cardboard holder in one hand and a packet of something else in the other.

“I wasn’t sure how you took yours,” she shrugged as she dumped a pile of little packets on the center console. Killian was about to take the offered coffee when a vivid memory coursed through him.

_ Two coffees, just like today.  _ The crashing thud of an explosion as they slipped out of his hands.

“You okay?” she asked, watching him hesitate. He was staring at the coffee as though it would give him an electric shock.

That seemed to shake him from his daydream. “Uh, sorry, I’m fine.”

He didn’t take any of the offered additions so she logged that him liking his coffee black. She herself took three Splenda and stirred them into the smoky smelling coffee alongside a healthy dose of milky creamer. She tasted it and it was just about palatable. At least sipping on the cup gave her reason not to talk to him.

Killian soon forgot his own coffee, leaving it on the dashboard. He needed to focus entirely on this task. He needed pictures and from that he could get names. This organization was very careful about leaving a footprint, no written records or evidence of any of their activities. The only way to build a case was to find its weak spots and exploit them - in other words, to find someone higher up the chain of command with a lot more at stake than Felix that would give them access to Pan’s inner circle.

Half an hour passed and Killian had not said a word. It was a little uncomfortable. She could practically feel his defenses up and building a wall between them. Being good at that herself, she couldn’t exactly criticize. 

“Are you drinking your coffee?” she asked meekly. Her own was gone and she was getting a little cold. Although there was no snow, it was still February and the air had a frigid nip to it that was slowly seeping into the car.

He grunted and shook his head.

He didn’t care about the bloody coffee. He hadn’t wanted it in the first place.

With a shrug, Emma reached for the cup, calculating in her head just how much more she could consume before needing a comfort break. Just as her fingers grazed the cardboard, Killian sucked in a deep breath. She looked up: people were leaving the warehouse. Momentarily distracted, she twisted her body so she could see better, at the same time her fingers swiped against the cup, sending it flying into Killian’s lap where the lid proceeded to pop off so the still-boiling liquid poured out into his lap.

“Bloody hell!” he cried, dropping the camera and hissing in pain.

“Shit, sorry - fuck!” she muttered, looking around for something to soak up the hot coffee. She suddenly remembered that beneath her sweater she was wearing a tank top so she quickly wriggled out of her jacket, peeling off the white wool and tossing it to him.

“Here,” she said, and he gave her a withering glance, pressing the material against his crotch (and she suddenly felt all the inappropriateness of staring at that part of his anatomy, especially in a confined space).

After a minute or so, the wool was soaked and the sting had gone from the burn, though he’d been left with a large, suspicious looking stain.

“Bloody hell, Swan! What the fuck was that?”

He looked up again but there was no longer anyone coming out of the warehouse. Tossing the sweater onto the back seat, he grimaced. They either moved quickly or they had seen the commotion and spotted the car.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, love, you didn’t mean to do anything. But this is why I wanted to do this alone! It could be weeks before they have another meeting.”

He looked at her, fury burning in his veins. She was watching him react, her own chest heaving beneath the skimpy tank she was now wearing. His eyes dipped to her breasts for a second before he caught himself and he looked back at her face.

“It was an accident, Jones.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Love, this is the FBI. There is no time for bloody accidents.”

He picked up the camera, starting to take it apart, his anger making his movements sharp and decisive.

Beside him, Emma brooded. It had been a goddamn accident! Jesus, he was acting like petulant child.

“Oh my god, I am not your ‘love’! Would you stop calling me that!”

He stared at her. She was suddenly looking as angry as he felt, her cheeks red, her breath coming in huffs.

“And this whole ‘tough guy’ ‘I-don’t-need-your-help’ act has gotta go. You need to accept that I am your partner now and you are stuck with me whether you like it or not. So we can make this painful for both of us or you can stop being such an asshole and actually maybe this will go a little smoother!”

He paused for a moment, blinking at her outburst. Damn, she was firy. And a little voice was telling him that she looked pretty hot when she was mad.

“Are you done?”

“For now,” she snapped

Without another word, he pushed the key in the ignition and slid the car into drive. Right now all he wanted to do was find a clean pair of pants, he’d worry about how to deal with Emma Swan later.

Emma seethed as car pulled away. 

Killian Jones was not going to derail her career. She’d worked too damn hard to let that happen.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Friday at The Royal Oak was always a game of two halves: the pub was quiet until at least ten pm and then it seemed like the entire Anglophile population of the city of Boston would descend upon it in time for the resident live band starting to play. Luckily, it was still before nine by the time Killian had arrived to meet his closest friend and he was thankful. There was just enough time to get pleasantly buzzed before the crowds descended. This way he would at least be able to tolerate it.

Killian just wasn’t a people person at the best of times and after the week he had had he was even less likely to have time for the prattle of drunken revellers. He just wanted to get a drunk and forget about work. Was that too much to ask?

Robin Locksley studied his friend’s face as they waited at the bar. Killian’s features were creased into a scowl and had been so ever since Robin had inquired about how things were going with his new partner.

“She can’t be that bad, mate. You’ve only known her a week,” he insisted.

“I beg to differ,” Killian replied as he lifted his hand the get the bartender’s attention. 

_ Indeed, things were very bad between the pair.  _

After the disaster that had been their first stakeout, she had insisted on going through all of Smee’s files, completely re-organizing the manila folders in a way Killian was sure he would never be able to understand. This was as she tossed him constant questions about the case - wanting to know every last detail when he already had everything quite well under control.

He had tried to be civil. Really. Even when she had read the regulations to him about procedures with informants (after he’d had to explain just what sort of deal he was offering Felix). Even when she had questioned almost every element of his record keeping. 

But she just  _ grated  _ on him. Everything she did had to be cross-checked in a manual and referenced against her induction schedule. He hadn’t entered this profession to become a glorified babysitter. He was a man of action, not one who worried about crossing every  _ t _ and dotting every  _ i _ . And Ms. Swan was mightily preoccupied with being such a model agent that her insistence on following procedure exactly had only the effect of making every thing he did extremely slow. He was even beginning to suspect that this was all part of a scheme of Director Mills to move him to a less prominent role. She’d been gunning for that for the past few years, ever since she had taken over control of the field office. She seemed to think that Killian’s past made him a risk. 

He thought it made him a better agent.

In the interest of not giving Ms. Mills anymore reason to get on his back, he had tried to explain again to Swan just how the partnership would work - that they each needed to take on different roles. Namely he was the more active partner and she would take more of a sedentary role - filing and such like. As Smee had. This had been met with indignation and threats to speak to Regina. 

Killian had responded with silence. That was the last thing he wanted, or needed. And as such, for the past two days the pair had barely spoken. The tension in the office was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Two pints of bitter were placed in front of the men and Killian carried them over to a table near the dartboard of The Royal Oak as his friend paid.

They sat and sipped their pints, both sets of eyes trained on a TV showing Brazilian soccer.

“So...” Robin asked after a few minutes, “About this new partner of yours… ”

Robin was never one to let something go easily. Killian rolled his eyes as a goal was scored on screen.

“We just don’t...gel,” he shrugged without looking at his friend.

“If I do recall, you didn’t exactly get on with Smee on your first encounters.”

“That was different.”

“Is it?” Robin asked, with a pointed glance.

Killian thought back to the early days of his partnership with William Smee and how the old man had resented having such a young partner. Smee, being happy to hide himself away in his office, disliked the way Killian always wanted to be in the thick of the action. It hadn’t really been until over a year into their partnership that things had changed. The explosion had changed everything.

“Look, maybe there are other reasons that you find being around this woman difficult.”

Slowly turning his head, Killian rolled his eyes, “Just what are you insinuating?”

Robin replied with an enigmatic smile. “I’m saying that it wouldn’t be the first time that you have created problems that don’t exist - especially with the opposite sex. You haven’t told me much beyond her name and how much she bothers you. Is she an attractive woman?”

“She’s…” his voice trailed off as he scrunched his brow.

Killian had been aware that Emma was good-looking since their first meeting in Regina’s office. He wasn’t blind. But this awareness was more of an afterthought than anything else; his focus had firmly been on how he could mould her into becoming what he needed in a partner (namely, pliant and willing to follow his lead). Of course once he had begun to realize that was not going to be possible, his thoughts had shifted to how easily he could relieve himself of her presence. Since then, her appearance had been something he hadn’t really thought about.

“She’s… pretty.”

“Pretty?”

Killian sighed. An image of her from their first day, face flushed as she tossed her sweater at him came to him. Through the haze of his annoyance he hadn’t really appreciated the image at the time, but now her looked back he could see just how bloody attractive she had been with her eyes flashing angrily and the thin cotton of her tank top clinging to her skin.

“Okay, she’s very pretty.”

Robin stared at him. He felt his cheeks burn under the accusatory gaze. He’d never had much of a poker face when it came to Locksley.

“Fine, she’s hot. Gorgeous. Is that what you want to hear?” 

Robin held up his hands, “Hey, I was just asking!” He chuckled and took a long sip of his beer.  “So do you find her attractive?”

“Drop it Locksley.”

Another goal had been scored and the players were celebrating.

“Well, that can’t hurt, can it?”

“Why?” Kilian scoffed. 

“Why not? It’s not like you meet a vast number of single women in your line of work - at least not ones who you could pursue something with. She is single, right?”

Shaking his head, Killian sighed. “For a start, dating someone you work with is a bad idea. And more importantly, you know I’m not looking for anything, Robin.”

“But when will you? It’s been almost seven years-”

Killian paled at the mention of the anniversary of Milah’s death. It was in less than two weeks and even though so many years had passed by, that day never became easier.

“Aye, and nothing has changed. I’m not looking to replace her.”

Robin, being used to this kind of response, tried not to snap back with his true feelings on the subject - that Killian was using Milah as an excuse to keep people at arm’s length. The same way he had done with almost every other friend he had following the incident that had taken her life. It was only Robin’s stubbornness that had prevented the friendship from disintegrating as Killian had tried to drown his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle of rum. It was Robin who had been there for him. Robin had pulled him out of the pit of despair, stood beside him at the funeral and sobered him up enough to make him think clearly.

“And I’m not asking you to… but you know she wouldn’t want this.”

Killian refused to look Robin in the eye.

He knew he was right. Milah had been so full of life… She’d grabbed every chance she came at with both hands and when Killian had met her she had taken him along for a ride. She had shown him how important seizing the moment was. She’d made him promise so many times that he would move on should anything happen to her - she was a decade older than him and had this worry that their time together was short. Of course, he’d hushed her words, finally promising that he would, only to make her stop saying such things.

But then she’d been proven right, in the most cruellest of ways.

He needed to change the subject.

“Let’s talk about something else, Robin. What about your boy? How is the little devil?”

Talking about Robin’s son Roland was an instant way to make him forget about whatever issue he was hassling Killian with. His face lit up with a smile as he began to talk about the kindergartener, how he was learning to play soccer, how excited he was about Christmas.

Robin distracted, Killian went back to his beer and banished all thoughts of Emma Swan - and women in general - from his mind.

* * *

Across town Emma Swan was also doing her best to forget about her new partner. Her plan involved wine and sharing mindless gossip with her closest female friend (well, friend of any kind to be precise).

“Mmm, what is that?” she hummed as she stepped into the apartment. She still had a key even though she had moved out over a year ago when she began her training but Mary Margaret Blanchard had never asked for it back, nor did she seem to mind that Emma continued to let herself in unannounced.

“It’s Pad Thai and hello to you too,” she laughed as Emma scooped up the wine glass and took a long sip. “Mmm, damn I needed that,” Emma sighed.

“You’re later than I expected - problems at the office?” 

Emma kicked off her boots as Mary Margaret began to serve up the noodles. “The T was held up and I had to hit the grocery store after work. Even I can’t live on Cheerios and salami slices all weekend.”

“You know you’re always welcome here when I’m making dinner.”

“Thanks,” Emma smiled, knowing the offer was completely genuine and not just lip service.

Her former roommate was a fantastic cook and that was just one of the things she missed about living with her. An elementary school teacher, Mary Margaret was just about one of the best people Emma had ever met. She was one of the few genuinely good people she had ever come across and there wasn’t one thing that Emma could fault her with - other than her seemingly never ending optimism. She’d put up with Emma’s somewhat prickly nature, seeing something in her that Emma could not see in herself. Exactly what, Emma wasn’t sure, but Mary Margaret had told her many times, “You’re worth more than you think Emma.” Of course Emma had always rolled her eyes and changed the subject.

“Well, eat up. And I have two bottles of that wine in the fridge so go crazy on that too.”

A few minutes later the two were digging into their dinner. Emma was starving and Mary Margaret astutely let her devour half the plateful before she started asking the inevitable questions about Emma’s first week.

“So, come on, spill. How has it been? The three texts I’ve gotten from you have been less than informative.”

Emma paused, fork midway to mouth and shrugged.

Purposefully, she’d avoided speaking to Mary Margaret for the past week. She lived on the other side of the city now, yet the pair still usually spoke at least once every few days. But the pixie-haired brunette was sensitive to Emma’s proclivity to secrecy and even she knew that with the stress of a new job she should give her friend some space and Emma had used that to her advantage. And she also knew that Emma could not resist the lure of a home-cooked meal, which would give her the perfect excuse to ask all the questions that had been bubbling up inside her.

“Busy,” Emma hummed.

“And?”

“It was my first week - lots of training and reading things. That kinda busy.”

“Hmmm.”

“Hmmm?” 

Mary Margaret shrugged. “It’s just this has been such a long process that I was hoping for something a little juicier than ‘busy’.”

Emma lay back in her chair and shrugged. 

The truth was, she didn’t really know what to say. On a basic level, things had been fine. Her office was decent, she had been given all the access codes and clearance she needed, had been hooked up with a whizzy laptop and smartphone and even had a shiny new ID card (that no longer said trainee). But at the same time, things were all wrong.

Her partner borderline hated her. She was pretty sure of that. What she had hoped would be a positive experience and a learning journey looked like it would end up being a conflict strewn mess. Her first stake out had gone awry. She’d tried to help him organize the filing but was met with annoyance. The stony silence between them was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

“Well what about your partner, then?” she asked, as if she could read Emma’s mind.

“He’s fine,” Emma lied, resuming eating, twirling the noodles around her fork and forcing them into her mouth as an excuse to not elaborate further.

“Right,” Mary Margaret replied. “Where’s the usual complaining? You’d only worked with Leroy for two days before you’d renamed him Grumpy. And remember your old boss Eric? You’d got him down as a royal bore by the end of your first day in the job. And you’re telling me this guy is fine? I don’t believe you Emma Swan.”

She was right, dammit. Emma always had an opinion on her coworkers - usually a negative one. Which was actually fine working in bail bonds since most jobs she worked solo and dealing with the office was a rare inconvenience.

“Look, he’s a few years older than me, from the UK originally, likes to work on his own and is very particular about the way cases are handled.”

Emma felt her cheeks burn as she allowed her annoyance about Killian Jones to bubble to the surface.

Mary Margaret chuckled.

“Is he attractive?”

“Why does that matter?”

Mary Margaret shrugged and Emma knew that her friend wasn’t going to let this go without some details.

“I guess he is. He’s definitely… conventionally attractive. Dark hair, blue eyes.  _ Handsome  _ you’d say. But his personality sours that. Not that that makes any difference. You know I’m not-”

“Looking for anyone. Yes, I have heard you say that a thousand times. I really wish you wouldn’t be so negative about men.”

“I’m not negative about them! I love men. For one night only. You know I’m perfectly content as I am.”

“Well I’m not,” Mary Margaret grinned, “And as that is the case, I wanted to ask you to come speed dating with me.”

Emma scoffed. “Speed dating? I thought that trend had died.”

“Not here on the East Coast.”

“I’d rather die.”

“Please? For me?”

Emma rolled her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to have to make nice with a room full of men of who she had no interest in. She knew Mary Margaret had the best of intentions but her determination to get Emma to date was certainly one of her less endearing features. She’d tried to set her up no less than a dozen times in the years they had known each other and on every single occasion Emma had managed to wrangle her way out of any commitment.

“I’ll quit asking you questions about work for the rest of the evening if you say yes…”   
“Fine. I’ll go. Once. But I do not promise to speak to anyone other than you.”

Her friend beamed back at her and grabbed the bottle of wine. “I think this calls for a refill!”

“Fine by me,” Emma agreed, holding out her glass.

She had plenty of time to find an excuse to get out of that one too.

* * *

Killian had always been something of an early riser. Even on nights when he had fallen into bed in the wee hours, he found it difficult to curb his body’s urge to wake with the dawn. He’d been like that since childhood. Perhaps it resulted from those trips he had taken as a child with his father. Brennan Jones had been a keen amateur fisherman and Killian had loved nothing more than joining his father on his small boat, getting up long before the sun had risen to drive to the docks. Sometimes his older brother, Liam, would join them and they would pass many hours together casting out their rods and eating overstuffed sandwiches that their mother had thrust into their hands before they had left. But that had all came to an abrupt halt when Brennan had vanished not long after Killian’s tenth birthday.

Generally speaking this routine of waking early had not resulted in a prompt arrival to his desk. Those hours were often spent completing mundane tasks such as laundry and cleaning, followed by a brisk jog around the park near his apartment. This arrangement filled his time well enough for him to arrive along with most others around the 8:30 mark.

However today was different. After a quick shower and a few hurried mouthfuls of tea and toast he found himself in the office just after 6:30am. It was pleasantly quiet. No hum of electronics or regular chime of the elevator. He was one of only a handful of workers in the building at this time and the silence helped him think.

He’d spent the rest of the weekend nursing the remnants of a hangover while considering how he would move forward in this new partnership he had found himself in. 

He’d be cordial.

He’d be helpful.

He’d get the bloody lass through her induction with such a glowing report that she would be eagerly snapped up by another agent looking for a fresh new partner. 

He could do that.

It was indeed such a cunning plan that he couldn’t help but congratulate himself as he booted up his laptop. 

Kilian was ruminating over the finer details of his plan, when the door to the office clicked with the sound of the electronic lock and he was confronted with the woman herself. Emma’s face flushed a little when she saw him and they exchanged curt nods as she slid inside. Glancing back at his computer, Killian busied himself with entering his password and listening to the sounds of her setting up her desk.  

Despite himself, he couldn’t resist taking a look as she pulled of her jacket and unlocked her filing cabinet. Every since his conversation with Robin that weekend, he had felt a lingering curiosity about her. His eyes followed her secretly - her hair pulled back in a ponytail that swung as she moved, the sheer maroon of her blouse that revealed a darker camisole beneath, the high arch of her cheekbones that curved into her jaw, ending in her dimpled chin. Yes, she was an attractive woman. He’d let himself admit that. Not that that would change anything.

Emma herself had been surprised to see Killian already behind his desk. Disappointed too. Hoping for a quiet hour or so to herself to mentally prepare herself for the week ahead, she was deflated that he had beaten her to it. Two days away from him had refuelled her determination to make the best of the situation. It was ridiculous really - they were so early in this partnership. Maybe they had gotten off to a rocky start; that didn’t mean that things were always going to be that way.

God she was starting to sound like Mary Margaret,

She glanced at the clock on her laptop, it was almost 6:45 am when she heard the sound of rushed footsteps down the hallway. Seconds later the flushed face of Regina Mills’ assistant appeared at the door.

“Ms. Mills office, now. Both of you,” Ashley panted.

“But it’s not even seven am-” Emma began.

“Now,” she repeated, before dashing off down the hallway.

“O-okay,” Emma nodded, as Killian picked up his phone and headed to the door.

“Come on, Swan,” he urged and heart pounding, she did as she asked. “Let’s not keep her majesty waiting.”

“Sure Jones,” she replied, just about resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

* * *

They were met in the lobby outside Regina Mills office by Agents Nolan, Humbert and Lucas, the latter of whom was clinging to a cup of Starbucks as they waited.

“Late night?” Killian asked, gesturing to the cup.

“Something like that,” the brunette replied, giving him a sarcastic grin.

Ruby and Killian had, what he would like to call, a love-hate relationship. She seemed to have an impression that he was some sort of womanizing cad and he chose not to correct her. He found her brusk and overly forthright. It led to often amusing conversations which he might even have called flirtatious, if he were not looking and she were not very much taken.

“How’s Jia?” he continued.

“That’s Officer Mulan to you,” she quipped. “And she’s fine. Very, very fine. If you catch my meaning.”

“Indeed I do,” he nodded before turning to ask David Nolan if he had any idea what this was about.

Emma stood a little awkwardly at his side. She’d already met the other three agents, but only in passing. She knew that Nolan was a highly decorated agent who’d cut his teeth in the New York field office and acted as head of their subdivision when matters necessitated it. Graham Humbert was a little younger and had moved from law enforcement some years prior. He also had an Irish twang that she had learned came from living his first ten years in County Armagh. Then there was Ruby: a data analyst with an amazing smile and a warm handshake. It was the woman who greeted her first.

“How’s this asshole treating you?”

Emma shrugged, not quite sure how to respond.

“If he’s being a dick, send him my way. I have three years of self defense classes that I’m dying to try out.”

“Uh…” Emma began, before she was cut off by Regina Mills breezing past the group, her ear glued to her phone as Ashley fussed and took her coat and bag.

“Well get in!” Regina growled, gesturing to the door which Ashley then opened with her electronic pass.

Curiosity burned within Emma as she followed the others inside. They sat around the small, oval conference table that filled the area to the left of Regina’s desk. The chairs had overstuffed cushions and no backs. Emma laid her phone on the desk and waited.

Director Mills reappeared a few minutes later, followed by her assistant. The door closed behind them and Regina walked over to the table, standing with her hands on her hips rather than taking one of the empty chairs.

“We have a situation,” she began. “Approximately twenty minutes ago a small explosion occurred at Alewife station.”

“Small?” Killian asked, his blood running cold. “What caused it?”

“We don’t know,” Regina admitted, smoothing her hands down her black pencil skirt. “The train was almost empty - it had just pulled onto the platform to make its first run of the day. There were only a few passengers on board who are all fine, but the driver is in a bad way.”

David Nolan cleared his throat. “I’m guessing that this is presumed to be foul play?”

“You would be correct,” she nodded, finally sitting and grasping her hands on the table in front of her.

“Terrorism is our first suspicion. After the marathon bombings and the Hyde bombings we’ve been predicting the city could be a target again.”

At the mention of the Hyde bombings Regina’s eyes drifted to where Killian sat. Emma noticed the small, brief smile she gave him before she turned her attention back to the rest of the table.

“Forensics are already heading to the scene. I need you to liaise with the CIA, speak to your contacts, get down and look for some goddamn clue as to what this is. The media are already starting to pick this up and we don’t have any time to waste looking for suspects.”

“Do you think it could be him - Hyde?” Graham asked. 

“It’s been six years since his last crime, Humbert, but I’m not ruling anything out. Nolan - you’re in charge. I’ve got to be on the next flight to DC, so I’ll expect a full report  on your investigations by the time I land.”

“Of course,” David nodded, turning to the team as Regina left them, instantly putting her phone back to her ear.

“Okay, Lucas I need you deep in the web - search the chatter, see if you can find anything that even hints at someone involved in this,” he instructed.

“Sure boss,” she agreed, making a mock salute.

“Humbert, you and I will act as coordinators with the PD and CIA, I want you down on the scene with Jones and Swan - you two, I need you collecting evidence, statements - I’m leaving nothing to chance. If this is terror related we need everything done by the book.”

“Perhaps Swan should stay here with Lucas? She’s new and-”Killian tried to interject.

“And that’s exactly why she needs to be there. There’s no learning experience like a real situation.” Nolan gave Emma a soft smile and she decided there and then that she liked David Nolan. And her annoyance at Killian resurfaced.

Ten minutes later, Emma was down in the parking lot with Graham, waiting for Killian to return with another evidence kit. They’d made small talk for a few minutes; he asked how long she had lived in Boston, she’d asked him how long he’d been with the agency.

“So you know about Killian, then?”

“What about him?” she asked.

He looked furtively behind his back, as if to check if Killian was coming. “Remember the Chambers building explosion?”

Yes, she nodded, she did. Of course she did. It was Hyde’s last bomb - and his deadliest. The bomber had held the city hostage for over seven months, setting off a series of explosions that had caused chaos. But he had saved the worst for last. Almost seven years ago, a device had been planted in a delivery to the Chambers building which housed local government offices in addition to a few other private tenants. It had gone off just as most staff were beginning their lunch breaks. Over fifty people died in the initial blast and the ensuing fire and the structure eventually collapsed. The lot still stood empty.

“Well, Killian’s girlfriend died in that incident. They’d been together for a few years. He was pretty cut up about it for a long time.”

“Oh my god,” she mumbled, her mind racing. She tried to imagine what losing someone like that would be like and she drew a blank. Probably because it had been a long time since she had let anyone get close enough to her. A wave of sympathy for him washed over her: maybe that was why he was so standoffish-

“So just-”

“Tread carefully?” she suggested.

“Yeah, something like that,” he smiled. “This case can’t help but bring up some memories.”

Emma’s brow crumpled as she thought. “How has he stayed on this team? Surely with his history…”

Graham shrugged, “He’s a stubborn one, in case you haven’t noticed. I know Regina is just waiting for an excuse to make him switch departments but he hasn’t given her one yet.”

Emma nodded in understanding, trying not to consider that Killian’s past could somehow work in her favor.

* * *

Alewife station had been evacuated and a line of fire trucks and police cars waited outside. The trio each showed their IDs to get through the security cordon.

“I’m just going to speak to the police chief,” Humbert said, pointing in the direction of a group of officers. “I’ll see you inside.”

Emma followed quickly on Killian’s heels as he made his way up the steps towards the ticketing hall. It was so eerie seeing the place so deserted; not a soul around at a time when it would normally have been gearing up for the day. The air was tinged with the scent of acrid smoke - from wires burning and charred plastic. It made her nose wrinkle. Killian paused and looked at the platform numbers. The train was on platform three, uniformed police stood by each escalator down to the trains.

“This way,” he sighed. 

Emma could see the tension on his face. She reached out, her hand softly grasping his leather-clad arm.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his head tilted in confusion.

“No, Jones, um, I just wanted to say that if you need to take a break or anything, just let me know.”

“A break?”

“Yeah, I mean, I know this strikes a chord with you. Humbert told me-”

Killian immediately scowled. “Oh, he bloody would have,” shaking his head he went on, “Swan, my past is most firmly in the past. You have no need to worry about me.”

“Oh,” she lowered her voice a slight, “But if this does have something to do with Hyde-”

“ _ Emma _ , let me make this perfectly clear. I am more than capable of approaching this professionally. I do not need - nor am I seeking - your sympathy.”

Taken aback, Emma released his arm and shrugged, “Sorry, I just… Sorry.”

His face fell, a flash of contrition passing over it before he set his jaw into a firm expression.

“S’fine,” he grumbled, “Now come on before the bloody PD screws this all up.”

As much as her instinct was to pursue the matter, Emma thought better of it and followed Killian towards the halted escalator to platform 3. They picked their way down the metal stairs, the sound of their footsteps ringing out in the empty station. As they reached the bottom Emma could see the rear of the train, completely untouched.

There was a uniformed officer waiting. 

“Agents Jones and Swan?” he asked and Killian nodded. “Your superior, Nolan, let us know you were on your way. Come with me.” The officer took them along the train, past the gleaming carriages towards the driver’s end. 

It was the glass she saw first. The ground was littered with tiny pieces of the safety glazing that was used in the T-train’s windows. Half of the first carriage had the windows blown out, the rest were eerily untouched. She could see the forensic team inside sifting through the debris.

Killian thanked the officer and he walked towards a bench that ran along the wall opposite the train. He placed the holdall bag that held the evidence kit there, opening it up and handing Emma a pair of shoe covers and a pair of latex gloves. “Cover up Swan,” he said, gesturing for her to put them on as he did the same. Emma pulled on the shoe covers and stuffed the gloves in her back pocket. He then took a camera from the bag and the two headed towards the open door.

As they stepped through Emma could see that the doors had buckled from the blast, forcing them apart enough to allow access. Inside, the smell of burning intensified tenfold and she had to resist the urge to wince as it hit the back of her throat. The team looked up as they entered and Kilian approached them leaving Emma to take in the image before her.

This was her first real crime scene. Sure, she’d seen plenty of mock ups and read dozens of case files during training, but this was her first experience in the field and she soaked in every detail. 

She noted the charring patterns on the walls - they showed that the blast had originated just behind the driver’s cabin - in fact it had ripped through metal partition, leaving jagged edges and exposed wiring. She was amazed that the driver had survived the initial blast. The burning on the walls extend only about a quarter of the way along the carriage walls. The metal had warped in places creating little bubbles that seemed almost artistic in their arrangement.

“Swan?”

She turned around and saw Killian approaching with a member of the forensics team. 

“This is Detective Saunders.”

She shook hands with the man. He was tall with receding black hair and chunky rimmed spectacles that did their best to hide his tired looking eyes.

“Emma Swan,” she smiled thinly.

“I’ve updated Agent Jones with our status. You are both free to look around as we’ve done our initial investigations and the scene is safe.”

“Great,” she nodded, tossing a look at Killian, who avoided her gaze. “Anything yet?”

Saunders shook his head. “This is still the very early stages. We’ve taken what remained of the device and we have some of your people coming in from DC to help analyze it.”

“Okay. Jones, shall we?”

Kilian nodded, “Aye Swan. Thank you Detective, I’ll check in with you when we are done.”

Saunders returned back to the front of the carriage where the worst of the damage was. “So…” she began.

“You take the left side and I’ll take the right. Check every inch of this car.”

“What about CCTV?”

“Old car - it had never been upgraded,” he scowled.

“Right. Okay.”

Emma turned her back to Killian and began studying the carriage. The seats closest to the blast were singed, the polyester fabric melting into a shiny mush where the flames had reached it. The further she got from the blast site, the more ordinary things got. The train would have been cleaned the night before so there was none of the usual trash that could be found on the T after a day in service. The floors were clear. There were no newspapers left to idle on empty seats.

She moved along, her eyes scanning along each surface, not exactly sure what she was looking for-

Until she saw it. One seat cushion was slightly raised. It out of line with those on either side of it. Not much, only about half an inch but she noticed it. She pulled on the latex gloves that she had placed in her pocket and took hold of the cushion, pulling it a few times with increasing force until it came away in her hand. Beneath it lay a book. It was an old copy, dogeared with yellowed pages, placed face down. Carefully she picked it up and turned it over, letting out a hiss of hot air when she saw the title.

_ The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde _

“Jones!”

He was by her side a second later. She showed him the book and watched him swallow hard. As he watched she opened it. There was no inscription inside. She turned a few more pages until she reached the first chapter.

There, the first paragraph had been struck through with a thick black marker.

**~~UTTERSON the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance, that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and em~~ b** ~~**ourse** **; b** **ackward in sentiment; lean, l** ~~ **o** ~~**ng, dusty, dreary, and yet s** ~~ **om** ~~**ehow lovable.** ~~

“What does that mean?” Emma asked, staring at the scratched out letters.

“Look between the lines, love. What remains?”

She studied the words again. B. O. OM.

“Boom,” she whispered.

“Aye,” he nodded, his face falling.

“It’s him, isn’t it? This is his calling card.”

“So it appears, Swan. So it appears.”

Killian closed the book and grasped it in his hands, squeezing it tightly.

It was now clear, Hyde was back and Emma Swan’s induction into the FBI looked like becoming a baptism of fire.


	3. Chapter 3

In the 24 hours since the bombing, everything had gone to shit.

The media were whipped up into a frenzy - demanding answers, camping outside the FBI offices and the PD HQ, pouncing on everyone who stepped foot outside. The press conference that had been held just after midday had done little to ease the city’s nerves. The local TV stations showed rolling footage of the wrecked train as so-called experts debated the probable cause.

Neither the FBI nor the Boston PD had released the information about the book yet. The evidence had been sent for analysis but Director Mills and her superiors had made the decision that to inform the public when they had no further information was counter-productive. The official line was ‘we are working on a range of leads’ and Emma had already had to use that phrase several times as she fought her way into the building, a steaming latte in one hand and boxed bearclaw in the other.

As she reached her corridor, just after 7:30 am, Emma heard her name being called. Looking up, she saw Jones advancing towards her, his usual brooding looks only somehow enhanced by the shadows under his eyes. She resisted the urge to say something sarcastic.

_Just._

“Morning Jones - did you get any sleep?” she breezed.

He sighed heavily, “I got a few hours. I wanted to get in here early, go over files.”

“Oh great,” she replied, simultaneously annoyed that she hadn’t thought of doing the same thing.

The team had sent for the archived files and evidence relating to the Hyde case the previous morning. Frustratingly, they were stored in an secure external site with specialty climate controls which meant they had not been delivered to the offices until late that evening, long after Director Mills had sent them all home to ‘rest up - you’re going to need it.’

“How’s that going?”

Killian grimaced. The hour he had already spent had been less than productive. He still wasn’t sure exactly what he was expecting to find within the stacks of manila folders. Divine inspiration? Or perhaps some secret clue they had missed all those years ago. Sadly, he was lacking both. “I’m not sure yet,” he admitted, “Actually, right now I need to get you up to speed on the finer details of the previous bombings since you’re going to be part of the core team on this case.”

Much to his irritation, even he could admit they needed all hands on deck. The team that looked over the tri-state area was small enough. Generally speaking, their activities were limited to surveillance and tracking of suspects. The larger divisions with their heavier share of manpower were based further south in New York, DC and Virginia. As things stood, the Bureau was letting the field office handle this case themselves and that meant getting everyone fully briefed. Himself, Director Mills and Nolan worked on the original case. That left Swan, Lucas and Humbert to get caught up. As such, he was doing his utmost to put aside his differences with his new partner.

“Sure,” she agreed. “Lead the way.”

They walked to the other end of the floor where a series of meeting rooms looked out over the street below. The largest one had been designated as their incident room. Killian punched in a keycode to the electronic pad outside the door and the two slid in.

Inside, the oval conference table had been covered in files and evidence bags. So far, he’d only managed to go through the contents of two of them and that was in no great detail. Adjacent to the window an oversized whiteboard had been set up and the date and time of the explosion had been etched on in black marker. Beside these words there were pictures of the bomb site and the book Emma had found. Below was a picture of the driver of the train, captioned with his name HENRY FOWLER and the words ‘critical condition’ beneath it.

Emma’s eyes glanced over the piles of evidence. There must have been at least a hundred folders and countless evidence bags, all neatly tagged and organized in rows. Her heart sank a little as she thought just how much they had to do.

“Wow, there’s a lot to go through.”

“Yeah,” Killian frowned as he cleared a section of the table and gestured for her to sit on one of the stiff leather chairs. “Cases like these tend to take on a life of their own. These are just the priority A and B files, we have a whole other stack of records containing all the tips received to the case hotline that were deemed unreliable.”

Emma carefully placed her coffee cup and pastry box down and then slid out of her leather jacket. Her stomach groaned a little and she remembered that she hadn’t really eaten properly since the previous morning. The bearclaw would have to wait a while.

A few seconds later Killian took the seat beside her, a plain brown folder in his hands.

“Before we start…” he paused and frowned. He wasn’t quite sure how to say this - apologising was not his strongest skill. “I just want to say that I know we haven’t gotten off on the best footing. But things are different now, with this case and so-” he quickly moistened his bottom lip, before drawing it between his teeth. “I guess I’m trying to say that I’m sorry for being an arse and I hope that we can move on from that.”

For a second, Emma was dumbstruck. The last thing she had expected was an apology. In fact, she’d been mentally rolling up her sleeves for another day of sparring since the moment she woke.

“Um, yeah, of course,” she said. She paused.  Unsure how to continue. Until she remembered something. “My friend, Mary Margaret, always tells me I don’t give a good first impression. She says I’m too brusque. Too standoffish. That I don’t show people my true self. Maybe we have that in common.”

Killian eyes her warily, unsure if she was offering an olive branch or preparing to berate him further for his behaviour.

“I guess what I’m, rather eloquently trying to say is, maybe we shouldn’t judge each other until we actually know each other a little better?”

A smile flickered at Killian’s lips. The woman was right. They did know little to nothing about each other. Having been acquainted barely more than a week and neither having made the effort to expand their conversation beyond to courteous and the functional. He was even beginning, to feel that his initial reaction to her was perhaps something of an overreaction. Not that he would admit that, of course.

“I think that would be acceptable, Swan.”

He sounded contrite. So she decided to be a woman of her word.

“How about you call me Emma?”

“Emma,” he copied, punctuating it with a nod of his head. He felt a little of the ice between them thaw as he used her given name. He wasn’t looking for a friendship - but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be civil. “So, _Emma_ , how much do you know about the previous bombings?”

She thought back to what she had learned in the last day. She knew the series of incidents had escalated over

the course of a year before ‘Hyde’ had disappeared and there had been no trace of him for almost seven years. Beyond that, details were fuzzy. “Just the basics.”

“Well.” He opened the folder in front of him and she was confronted with a series of blurry images.

“Is this him?” she hissed.

“Yes, well we’re pretty sure. These were never released to the public - too blurred to be able to make out any details of his face or what he is wearing. They were taken by security cameras at a nearby convenience store in the early hours of the morning before the Chambers Building bombing. He was the only person seen in that area but the damn camera was malfunctioning and with the dark clothing and the baseball cap he’s wearing, it’s impossible to make anything out.”

It was, in fact, one of the most frustrating parts of the investigation. They had pictures of who they were pretty damn sure was the bomber, but were unable to do a bloody thing with them. They’d been processed countless times and they would be again that morning once Lucas arrived. But he knew it was pointless. They needed some other kind of lead.

Emma stared at the image, trying to make out some of the features of the dark figure, but her partner was right. It was a pixelated mess. She wasn’t even sure if the figure was male, they seemed tall but that didn’t really mean much. “Is ‘he’ even definitely a guy?”

Killian smiled wryly. She certainly thought like an investigator. “We had those same thoughts originally. We had the FBI’s top profilers study the bomb design and the letters and they gave us a 90% probability that this is a male.”

Nodding, Emma looked back at the photographs. “So what do we know about him?” she said warily.

“Not a lot,” he explained, shuffling the items around in the folder, “His contact with the authorities was very vague. We had suspicions but none of that led to anything concrete.”

Nothing at all, would have been more accurate a summary of what they knew about this man.

“When the incidents began, Director Mills was lead field agent in domestic terrorism and Nolan and I were only a few months out of our probation. It was our first big case. Still is the biggest case we have open.”

Emma nodded, mentally taking _herself_ back to eight years prior. She hadn’t been working in bail bonds very long and she was still living down in Tallahassee. She didn’t move to Boston until after the Chambers Bombing and Hyde’s disappearance. (After she had finally realized that she had no reason to stay in the coastal beach town.)

As Killian looked at the files, he suddenly remembered that man he had long since left behind. Fresh to the job. Unbroken. Hopeful.  His heart ached for a moment until he pushed the feelings aside. He cleared his throat.

“It began with a series of mail bombings - small ones, aimed at low level city government departments - social security, DMV, administration. They were set with a timer to detonate early in the morning, one after the other. Luckily the damage was limited due to the small size of each package. One postal worker suffered an injury to his hand and face but thankfully it wasn’t life threatening.”

“So they were a warning?” she asked.

Instead of replying, Killian pulled out a scanned document and placed it in front of her. It was a letter - but like something out of a pulp crime novel. Instead of being typed or handwritten, it was composed of letters that looked like they had been cut out from newspapers and magazines. Around the edges it was singed. He’d long since memorized it.

 

**THE TImE hAS COMe**

**FOr PEnanCE To bE PAID**

**ThE SInS OF THE FatHEr**

**TO THE child, WILL BE RElayED**

 

“This arrived the day after the first bombing.”

Emma’s yes danced over the haphazard letters: the placement of each one mocking and childlike but the tone was quite the opposite.

“Penance… sins of the father… It’s almost biblical.” She shook her head in confusion. “This doesn’t make sense. ”

“We thought the same. Our investigations led nowhere. Most of the letters came from national publications that didn’t provide any clues, though we couldn’t identify the origins of some of them. Three months later there was another explosion - this time a car bomb outside a small social security office. A security guard and three passersby were killed, dozens injured. The casualty count was only limited by the weather - it was raining heavily so there weren’t as many people on the streets.” Killian frowned as he remembered that fact. How something as simple as a rainshower had saved lives. Maybe if it had been raining then Milah would have cancelled their lunch date-

No. He couldn’t think like that. Not now. Not after so long.

He shook himself and replaced the first facsimile with another in the same style.

“This was delivered to the Mayor’s office the following day.”

 

**An EYE FoR An EYE**

**DeAR CiTY of BOSton**

**BuT WHaT CosT FOr AN EaR?**

 

“Okay, so he has some kind of problem with the city?” she asked, even more confused.

Killian smiled wryly. “That was - _is still_ \- our belief,” he confirmed. “The next bombing came after another three months - it hit City Hall, near the staff entrance. A package had been left in a trash can.”

“And was there another letter?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “But this time just one word. And with it he included a newspaper article.”

The letter he placed in front of her was short and stark:

 

**SoON**

 

“The article relates to an incident that occurred when lead seeped into the water system of a building that was owned by the city and let as affordable housing. It was in the late 80’s but the case didn’t come to court until about ten years ago. There was an issue with the pipes not being up to regulation, but it took until the residents started becoming sick for anyone to notice. Half the tenants were hospitalized and seven died from lead poisoning over the following few years. The city was sued by the survivors but got off on a technicality - something to do with the deeds of the building being ambiguous and that making them not liable for damages.”

“Hyde has some connection to this? A relative?” she postured.

“Every single surviving family member of these people has been extensively interviewed. We can’t find any evidence they are involved.”

“Maybe we need to reexamine that angle,” she suggested with a shrug.

“Maybe,” he nodded, knowing in fact that she was right. They needed to go over every lead and pray that there was something that they had missed.

A wave of frustration rolled over him, scorching his skin and making him uncomfortably hot. Emma gave him a queer look as he swallowed hard. His hand reached for the final summary file. This was the one he knew the best: the one he had reread a hundred times before this case had been put on ice and all the documents to storage.

“Chambers Building,” she said quietly.

Killian nodded. “Yes. I’m sure this is the one you are most familiar with.”

He spread out some of the pictures from the file in front of them. Twisted metal. Broken glass. Blood. So much blood… Emma felt her stomach turn. Beside her, she felt Killian let out a soft hiss as she ran her hands over the images of destruction. Of course she knew about the case, but seeing the crime scene photographs was entirely different from the sanitized versions shown in the press.

A heavy silence fell between the two.

“Jones-” she began. The pair looked up at the same time and she caught sight of the empty look in his eyes.  “ _Killian_ ,” she said more softly, resisting the instinct to reach out and place her hand on his arm. The urge to comfort him in some way was undeniable but surprising.

His gaze fell back to the photographs on the table. He didn’t have to tell Swan any more than she already knew- but in a strange way he thought he needed to. He could see that glint of hunger in her expression that showed him just how much she wanted to get to the bottom of all this. And like it or not, he was, and forever would be, intimately connected with the case.

“Her name was Milah. She worked in the city planning department - zoning and such like. That department was at the rear of the building and she would have been safe from the worst of the blast, but-” he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “But she meeting me for lunch and was waiting in the lobby. She died instantly.”

Every time he talked about her death, it was like reliving the pain again. It was a stab in his heart. A clenching of his gut. That feeling he would get every morning for the first six months after the bombing, when he would wake and for a moment everything would be fine. But then he would remember and his whole world would come crashing back down around him.

“I’m sorry,” Emma whispered, at a loss for what to say, unable to fathom the kind of hurt that such a series of events would cause.

His eyes were glassy when he looked back at her. “Thank you,” he nodded softly. “I’ve not really talked about her for a long time. Not to anyone new, that is. Look Emma, I need you to understand that this… connection I have in no way impedes my judgement in this case.”

She paused a moment.

As she looked over his demeanor - his shoulders curved forward and the crease between his brows - she noticed that she was seeing an honest moment from him. She hadn’t seen many of those in the brief time they had worked together. Usually there was this wall between them. Emma was usually pushing to learn more and he pushed back in his own stubborn way. But not now.

“Okay,” she replied simply. Because there wasn’t much more to say.

Seven years was a long time. She knew herself only too well how past wounds linger and color your ensuing actions, but that didn’t mean you can’t move on from them. They just changed you as a person.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I understand. I mean, as best I can. I trust you.”

Killian cocked his head. “You trust me?”

Emma was unable to resist a little smile at his surprise. And maybe she was a little surprised herself that after everything that had happened so far, she did.

“Maybe you’re growing on me.”

* * *

Three more days passed by slowly.

Killian found he was spending more time in the incident room than anywhere else. He had read every file at least three times. Except the Chambers Bombing. Every detail was already etched on his memory.

He’d spent the past seven years trying to forget the details of the case - the location of the bomb, the destruction it had caused, the long list of those killed and maimed. But it hadn’t been possible.

Logically, he knew he didn’t need to dwell on the exact details of each case. The team had worked their asses off and nothing new had been found. Humbert and Swan had been out re-interviewing old witnesses. Lucas trawled through updated forensic databases. Belle French was back from her leave and had been at police headquarters studying hours of CCTV footage. Himself and Nolan had checked and rechecked every fact from almost a decade ago. And nothing.

Frustrated, he ran his hands through his hair and stared out of the window of the incident room. It was dark now, almost six pm. Short winter days were usually his favorite; there was something about the cover of darkness which made the world more palatable outside of work. Yet now it only reminded him of the days ticking by as their bomber was still on the loose and the chances that he would strike again increased exponentially.

Killian had been by himself for the past few hours, comparing witness statements and incident reports. He felt pretty useless, sitting there with yet another file in his lap, watching the rush hour traffic trickle by as the citizens of Boston began to head home for the weekend. Another bombing could happen at any time. If this was Hyde, he had proven how unpredictable he was.  Any one of those people could be affected. He clenched his fists in frustration and kicked the empty waste paper basket that sat beneath the whiteboard.

Just then, the door opened.

“Jones,” David nodded as he stepped in, followed by Swan and Humbert. The last pair were bundled up against the frigid Boston weather and began to remove their coats as David rounded the table. “Any news from Lucas or French?”

Killian shook his head.

“Okay. Director Mills has asked that we begin next week with a search for the origins of the book Swan found.”

The other three approached the conference table, but Jones stayed by the window, folding his arms. “It’s a wild goose chase, Nolan. It’s a twenty year old, mass-print. I bet every used bookstore in the state has a copy.”

“Then we check every store. Maybe we get lucky and someone remembers recently selling one,” Swan piped up. Her cheeks had turned pink from the cold and where she had worn a hat her hair had pulled free from its ponytail and curled around her face. She’d lost some of the tough look she usually wore. She looked… different. For a moment he stared at her, lost in the image. Until Nolan spoke up.

“Emma is right. At the moment it’s the only even _lukewarm_ lead we have.”

“I agree,” added Humbert. He stood beside Swan, his arms folded. Always so noble was Humbert. And bloody annoying with it.

“Fine,” Killian shrugged, looking away, equal parts frustrated and annoyed.

“Good,” Nolan replied, “We’re all on the same page. Now get yourselves packed up - drinks at O’Brien’s, first round’s on me.”

“Thanks, but that’s the last thing I need right now.”

Sighing, David stepped forward and placed one hand on Killian’s shoulder. “The last thing you need to be doing right now, is brooding over this case. One drink. Unwind a little. Let yourself off the clock.”

“Mate,” he began, his voice low, “I won’t be off the clock until we’ve caught this bastard.”

With a wry smile, Nolan nodded. “I know. But at least you can pretend. Set a good example for the rookie.”

Glancing over David’s shoulder, he watched Swan as she talked easily with Humbert, an open smile on her face that he hadn’t seen her use before. Maybe he should make an effort. A little team bonding might not be the worst thing in the world if it got their dear leader off his back for a little while.”

“Alright,” he agreed, “But only because you twisted my arm.”

David chuckled and rolled his eyes, “If you say so Jones.”

///

O’Briens was small - one narrow room with a bar that ran halfway along one side, there was a pool table in the back and a few large leather booths jostling for space with a jukebox.

By the time they arrived, the post-work crowd from the nearby business district was already filtering in, sinking back imported beers and oversized glasses of wine. Ruby Lucas managed to secure the last available booth, by a quick wriggle through the crowd and a flash of her eponymous red lips to the guy who was about to take it.

“Next to me, Swan.”

Lucas tapped the green leather seat beside her and Emma looked back at the bar. “I was gonna get a drink…”

“We girls need to get to know each other since we’re outnumbered in that damn office. Wait a sec.”

Placing her fingers in her mouth, Ruby whistled loudly. The three men turned back from where they stood at the bar (as well as quite a few other patrons). “Humbert, two Coronas,” she called.

The Irishman smiled and rolled his eyes, before mouthing ‘okay’.

The brunette was laughing as Emma took the seat beside her. “Gotta pull the lady card every once in awhile, right?”

“I guess,” Emma shrugged, before adding, “Though I’m not really used to working with anyone - guys or otherwise.”

“Really?” Ruby drawled.

“Bail bonds it a pretty solitary job for the most part.”  
“Oh yes, Nolan said something about that. Pretty cool. So what made you change careers?”

“Good question,” Emma hummed. A moment later, Humbert came over and deposited two icy-cold beers onto the table in front of them. “Thanks,” she mumbled as Graham flashed the two a smile and went back to the bar to join the other men. She wrapped her hands around the bottle, the condensation dampening her palms as she mulled over that point.

“Well it was something I just fell into. It paid the bills when I had nothing, then it allowed me to go to college part time.”

“I feel you there,” Ruby replied, sighing into the leather seat, “I worked through school as an exotic dancer.”

“Seriously?” Emma smiled, before seeing Ruby’s very serious expression.

“Seriously. It was a classy place - well as classy as a strip club can be. But it was a means to an end and got me here with very little debt. And luckily the FBI are pretty liberal nowadays when it comes to your past.”

“I get that,” Emma smiled, tapping her bottle against Ruby’s before they both took a drink. “I could never have afforded college otherwise.”

Ruby gave her a curious look.

“Foster kid,” Emma explained. “No family, no savings… you know.” She hid her discomfort about revealing that piece of information by busying herself pushing her hair behind her ears and taking another sip of beer.

“I’m sorry,” the other woman replied sincerely.

Emma merely shrugged in reply.  “Well, anyway, I finished my degree and my professor told me that the FBI was hiring and I had the right experience… And here I am. I guess I always wanted to do something kinda ‘worthy’. If that makes sense. To belong to something? Oh damn, I sound so-”

“No,” Ruby hushed, placing a soft hand on her shoulder. “I understand. I haven’t got much family myself… so the Bureau has became an extension of that over the years. It gives me purpose - like I’m doing something good.”

“That’s what I want, I think…” Emma admitted.

In fact, it was hard to pinpoint exactly when she had fallen onto this path of wanting more from her life than her ( _admittedly well-paid_ ) bonds work. Somehow it felt like the answer to a kind of yearning she’d held since childhood. Like if she dedicated her life to something, that it would in turn be _worth_ something. That she would be worth something. Because being launched into the foster system as a child by parents who just disappeared hadn’t done a great deal for her self esteem.

“Hey,” Ruby smiled, “How about we talk about something a little more lighthearted? My brain is fried from this case.”

“I hear ya,” Emma sighed, picking up her bottle and clinking it against the other woman’s. “So what’s it like, working with these guys?”

Emma tipped her bottle in the direction of the others. They’d moved from the bar to one of the pool tables and Nolan was cueing up the balls for a game.

“It has it’s moments. But they are pretty good ones for the most part. Nolan is a very straight arrow, does things by the book.”

“I’ve noticed,” Emma added, her good opinion of him having only grown over the past few days. He actually reminded her a little of Mary Margaret. He had the same aura of goodness about him. She stored that thought away for later.

Ruby took another sip, the bubbles swarming up the neck of the bottle as she placed it back on the table. “Humbert is the silent but strong type, super reliable, always willing to help.” She gestured to their drinks and chuckled. “

“And Jones?”

“Hmph,” Ruby snorted, “In case you haven’t noticed, he is our resident dark horse. Mr. Brooding, I like to call him. How have things been between you too?”

Emma shrugged. “I’m not sure. I mean, shit to begin with. He wasn’t shy about making be feel unwelcome- But now maybe that is changing?”

“He is a tough nut to crack. A bit stuck in his ways. His heart is in the right place, though, and he is a good agent. You really can learn a lot from him.”

“I’m beginning to get that vibe,” Emma admitted. She looked over and saw Jones about to take a shot, learning over the green felt table, his shirt stretching over the muscles of his back. She sucked in a quick breath as a flutter of something unexpected rose in her gut.

“You know, I think he likes you.”

“Huh?”

Ruby nudged her in the side, and nodded towards the table. “I think he might ask you out.”

Face reddening, Emma’s heart began to race. She didn’t mean-

“Graham’s cute. You should consider it. If I wasn’t taken, I’d go there.”

A wave of relief mixed with a weird kind of disappointment came over her. She saw Graham stood by Killian, hand on his hip as he sank back his beer, his soft wavy hair falling over his forehead. He was an attractive man-

(For a second, she’d thought she’d meant Jones. Which was crazy. And never going to happen. No matter how hot he looked. With this ass in the air. Thrusting the pool cue.)

“I don’t think dating co-workers is such a good idea,” she replied, as diplomatically as possible as the burn left her cheeks. And it wasn’t even a lie.

(But convenient all the same.)

“Maybe… maybe not,” Ruby laughed. Emma liked her laugh. It was light and infectious, pulling a smile at her own lips as she brought the mouth of the beer bottle to her lips.

* * *

Begrudgingly, he had to agree that Nolan had spoken some sense. The beer was helping the stress of the past week fade somewhat to the back of his mind. He felt calmer. Dr. Hopper would probably call it gaining some perspective. He liked to think of it as putting life on pause.

They’d played a semi-competitive game of pool which wasn’t straightforward with three players. Nolan wasn’t much into the game, so Graham partnered with him and they squared up against Killian whose brother had taught him the game as a kid.

As they’d played, he’d glanced over a few times at where Ruby and Swan were sitting. He was sure he’d caught her looking at him more than once. Which was crazy. But it was dark… and even if that was true, it was likely Lucas was telling some not so great anecdote about him. The brunette had always been wary of him. Maybe they were too alike in some ways - both free to speak their mind and perhaps a little over confident naturally when it came to the opposite sex.

Not that that confidence was authentic in his case, He’d always been pretty good at hiding his true feelings behind a mask of bravado or innuendo.

Of course he won the game of pool. With the prize being another round, Humbert headed back to the bar as the other two men went over to the booth that Lucas had commandeered. There was a space next to Swan and Killian eyed it warily, contemplating how to continue the path of reconciliation they had begun that morning. She looked up and smiled. Damn she was pretty when she smiled, he thought - taking himself by surprise.

Suddenly, Lucas’s phone started blaring - flashing and dancing around on the table in front of her. After picking it up, she held if to her ear for a few seconds before her mouth dropped open in shock.

“We have a lead! We have a fucking lead!”  

** A/N: This took much longer than I had hoped. How I had originally planned the tone of the story just wasn’t working so I’ve changed a few elements and I hope it flows better. The pace starts picking up now and for those who are eager for more Killian and Emma developments I hope the seeds I have begun to sow are welcome. I will try my best to get the next chapter out sooner. All responses/reviews etc are very much appreciated. **


	4. Chapter 4

Emma Swan had never been able to sleep in a moving vehicle. She’d never slept through a car ride or dozed off on the T. This was a particularly odd when tempered with the fact that in her later teenage years she had spent more nights than she cared to remember sleeping in cars (that themselves were more often than not stolen). Still, as it was, she tried her best to make herself comfortable for the almost five hour drive to Storybrooke, Maine.

(Yes, that was a real place name. She still couldn’t believe it.)

In fact, she couldn’t believe a lot of things lately. Like here she was, doing her first real, bonafide field work on a huge case, heading off to middle of nowhere Maine to track down the only solid clue the investigation had yielded so far. The excitement and novelty of it all made the prospect of a long journey a little more bearable, even if the bureau-provided sedan was not exactly designed for long periods strapped into the seats.

At least the soothing hum of rubber on asphalt was helping her relax a little. The droning, white noise hid the silence between her and Killian. Though it was not an awkward or cold kind of quiet; it was in fact, almost pleasant. As they left the city, he flicked the radio onto some easy listening station that she didn’t recognize. She shifted so that she could draw up her knees a little and look out of the window. An expanse of dull grey highway stretched out before them, buffered on each side by forgettable grass verges and the occasional gas station. Slowly, she let herself relax and her mind go blank until her eyelids became heavy and miraculously, sleep claimed her.

-/-

Killian Jones had only ever been to Maine twice before. Both times when working on cases and both times he was left with the lingering impression of miles of emptiness. It was such a large state but much less densely populated than the Boston area.

He’d lived in the city so long that he sometimes forgot the world outside it was quite different. The city, with its high rise buildings and endless bustle, provided comfort in the protection it offered.

Protection from himself.

Within its streets, a man could be almost anonymous: he could hide himself away amongst the crowds, the noise blocking out his inner voice. But beyond the city and suburbs, in those open spaces, he had no buffer between himself and his demons. There was no distraction for his mind.

It had been sometime since he had taken a vacation for that exact reason. He preferred to work through his holiday allowance and when forced to take a day off, he holed up in his apartment with a quart of rum. Alcohol, was another distraction of his. Though he only ever over indulged occasionally these days. (Maturity? He liked to think so.)

When Ruby had announced a lead the night before, David had ordered everyone home to sleep off the few beers they had consumed and they reconvened in the incident room at 10am. Ruby had been tight lipped when they left the bar, but it turned out they had matched some of the unidentified letters from Hyde’s notes as coming from a small town weekly called ‘The Storybrooke Mirror’.

“Why is this only being picked up now?” David had asked, his voice as close to annoyance as Killian presumed he could muster.

“As far as I can see the paper only digitized this past November. So the last time we checked, it wasn’t part of any of our databases,” Ruby explained as they gathered around the conference table.

“How quaint,” Killian had added, clenching his jaw and flexing the muscles to avoid adding something less polite. All this time, there was this lead. And no one had found it.

“It’s middle of nowhere Maine,” Ruby had shrugged.

She was right about that.

Automatically, Killian had volunteered to drive when he and Swan - _Emma_ , he reminded himself now they were using first names - had been instructed to get up to Storybrooke, do some initial investigations and then be there first thing on Monday when the paper’s offices opened. Unfortunately, he hadn’t really thought about how long he would be driving for. Three hours in and he had a crick in his neck and was growing more tired by the minute. The late winter sun was falling in the sky, just low enough to begin to dazzle him from above the horizon. He kept a pair of sunglasses in the glove box and he reached over to retrieve them as he found himself alone on the stretch of highway. He glanced at Emma as he did. She’d been asleep for most of the journey, or at least she had her eyes closed and had pulled her thick cardigan tightly around her body to cocoon herself. He envied how peaceful she looked with strands of her blonde hair falling across her face and the fading sun casting a golden glow over her features.

As he slid on the glasses, it suddenly occurred to him that he knew barely anything about her. The usual period of learning about his partner had been abruptly curtailed by the bombing. The bare facts he had gathered so far gave a vague picture of her past and left him drawing a blank on her personality beyond her toughness and the belief that she was hiding a big part of herself. He recognized that because he did it himself with just about everyone. Transparency wasn’t natural to him and he sensed the same about her.

There were few people with whom he felt comfortable being his true self. Namely, his brother and Robin. Robin had his own worries, being a single father and Liam’s leave pattern rarely left the brothers with a chance of meeting up more often than once a year. So the shell of toughness and the appearance of indifference he had perfected became more and more used.

He wondered what it would be like to be free of that. To be himself.

(He wondered _who_ he actually was sometimes now.)

He wondered what had caused Emma to do the same.

-/-

It was almost seven by the time they finally pulled into Storybrooke. The use of a green welcome sign was quaint and clearly announced they were in Small town, USA. Another ten minutes along a woodland road brought them to the main street of the town where the inn that they had been booked into was located. After parking around the rear, he gently nudged Emma.

“Sw- _Emma,_ ” he whispered.

Automatically she yawned. A moment of disorientation followed where the day and time evaded her, until she remembered and felt the bite of the seatbelt across her chest. _Damn_ , she actually had fallen asleep. Her eyes fluttered open before focusing on Killian’s face. It was lit by the dim light in the car - the street outside was already dark.

Her stomach groaned as she pushed the button to release her belt.

“Sorry, I fell asleep.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted with a little nod.

“But you had to drive the whole way.”

He sighed and shrugged, “Good thing I like driving then.”

Emma held back a grin as the two exited the vehicle, retrieving their bags from the trunk and walking up the footpath to the only accommodation in town.

“Don’t they have a Holiday Inn or something?” she grumbled as she eyed the ruffled drapes at each window. It was just too… personal. She liked the anonymous nature of the big chains where no one was really interested in who you were and you could just get on with your business. Inns and B&B’s came with owners and owners came with personalities. Nosey ones usually.

“Apparently not. Ashley said this was the only place within 20 miles.”

“Great,” she drawled.

The sign above the door was an old fashioned painted one, with swirling gold letters on a crisp blue background announcing, ‘Granny’s B&B and Diner’. “At least we won’t have to go far for breakfast,” he pointed out as she opened the door.

“Yeah.”

It took a ring of the brass bell waiting on the small reception desk and a couple of minutes for the proprietor to arrive. She had silver-grey hair swirled up into a bun and little round spectacles perched on her nose. Her muted lilac plaid dress was just about as granny-like as Emma could have expected, given the business's name.

“Ah, yes. Jones and Swan?” she smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “Are you really from the FBI? My granddaughter took the booking and she likes to try and play games with me.”

Killian and Emma gave side glances at each other, Emma smiled at the woman’s curiosity while Killian pulled out his badge. The old woman took it, pushing her glasses up as she squinted at the gold-plated shield, nodding her approval before handing it back.

“I don’t suppose you can tell an old woman just what you’re here about? Storybrooke is a pretty quiet place. Not much goes on.”

“Sorry ma’am, it’s a sensitive case,” Emma explained.

“Hmm, well if you need any help, I know almost everyone in this town. The name’s Lucas, but just about all folks call me Granny. Hence the name.” She gestured to the ‘Granny’s’ logo on the rate card that was displayed in a small gold frame.

“We’ll be sure to,” Killian promised, while in equal parts eager to get to his room and freshen up and also not insult the kindly woman by brushing off her offer.

She turned her back, looking over the row of heavy iron keys that swung from hooks behind her.  She selected two and then placed them on the desk before giving them a curious look.

“Two rooms?”

“Yeah,” Emma nodded, reaching for the keys, feeling a prickle of self-consciousness. She was suddenly overly aware of how close Killian was to her. The rhythm of his breathing. The way the old woman was looking at them both expectantly.

Granny Lucas gave them a dimpled smile. “You’d make a cute couple.”

Emma’s cheeks flared suddenly red.

“Well we aren’t,” Killian quipped, scooping up the keys from beneath Emma’s hand as she furiously blushed and thanked the woman.

Damn she was thankful that Killian took the stairs first. She’d not felt so embarrassed in a long time. Though she couldn’t quite work out why she was so affected by the woman’s innocent enough comment. Usually, she would just brush off something like that with some wise-ass comment. Instead, she was left tongue tied. She chalked it down to tiredness.

He grabbed his back and stomped heavily up the staircase before waiting at the to. He was annoyed at the innkeepers comment.  The unexpected consequences of having a female partner were becoming apparent.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“Rooms 11 and 12,” Killian noted as Emma reached where he stood and he looked at the two keys. “Looks like we’re neighbors.”

She tugged her bag up and over her shoulder. Killian held out the key and her fingers brushed against his as she took it from him. She tried to ignore the little shiver that went down her spine.

“Then I hope you don’t snore.”

His soft smile was one she hadn’t seen him wear before. It suited him. She turned to scan the hallway and find her door when he spoke again.

“Uh - Emma, it’s early and I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Care to join a bloke?”

Surprised, she spun on her heel. They’d agreed to be more civil and give each other another chance as professionals. Work colleagues could eat together under these circumstances, couldn’t they? Maybe it would help them to move on and learn to be civil with each other.

“Well I am a little hungry,” she admitted, just as her stomach growled again to remind her that a grande latte from a Starbucks drive through was not sufficient sustenance for a whole day. “This place has a diner too, right?”

He smiled and ran his hand through his hair, in that unconscious-self conscious way he had. “Actually, Google tells me there’s a pub nearby that serves food. How about it?”

(And her decision to nod and agree had nothing to do with the flicker of attraction that her reckless mind was beginning to feel for Killian Jones.)

///

“I love shepherd’s pie,” Emma sighed as she spooned the last mouthful of the dish into her mouth. She’d been surviving pretty much on take out for the past couple of weeks (aside from a couple of Mary Margaret’s home cooked delights) and the simple food tasted practically gourmet to her deprived palette.  

“And they say British food is dull,” Killian laughed, tossing his napkin onto the table.

“I never said that,” she smiled, “Fish and chips, bangers and mash… I love it all.”

He raised his eyebrows in amusement as he watched his partner relax into her seat in the cosy booth they had managed to commandeer at the back of the curiously named ‘Rabbit Hole’ pub. “Maybe _you_ should have been born there. I’ve always been more partial to a burger.”

“Wouldn’t the queen have something to say about that?” she teased.

“Well, I’ve lived in the States longer than the UK, so I don’t think she’d mind too much.”

“That long?”

He nodded as the waitress removed their empty plates and then swung his bottle of Sam Adams in front of him. “I barely even remember living there. It’s strange.”

The memories were there. His home, with its red bricks and little garden out front where his mother grew sunflowers and cabbages, much to the amusement of their neighbours. His old school, the itchy uniform in particular that he was so thrilled to get rid of. His father. Fishing out on the coast with him. Playing football with Liam in the park across the road from the pub his dad used to frequent.

He had all the memories, but they were fading over time. They were losing their color. Each image was becoming less clear. Sometimes it felt like he was looking back at someone else’s life.

“Memories _are_ strange,” Emma agreed. She lay her head back against the green leather of the seat, picking at the label of her Bud Light with the fingernail of her thumb, debating whether she should tell him a little bit more about her beginnings. After all, she did know one of his personal tragedies. Maybe it would even the score.

“I grew up in foster care,” she said, glancing up to see his reaction. He seemed a little lost in his own world, but after a second he caught her eye, his head tilting as if to show he was listening. “Most of my childhood is fuzzy memories of people whose names I forgot a long time ago. Like a dream almost, if that makes sense,” she went on.

“I understand completely,” he replied. “The mind is a funny thing.” He hesitated, before adding, “And I’m sorry to hear about your childhood.”

Shrugging, she took a quick swig of her beer. “It was my reality. You live with what you have, don’t you?”

“Aye,” he nodded, feeling all the honesty in that statement. “My own childhood wasn’t all that great. We actually moved here when my dad disappeared.”

He saw Emma narrow her eyes.

“I mean he left my mum… left us. Me and my brother. I was thirteen and the only reason I didn’t go completely off the rails was Liam was there there keeping me in check. Mum had too much on her plate to worry about me.”

“An older brother?”

“Yes, five years. He’s in the British Navy now - has been for some time. Made captain a few years back.”

“Wow,” Emma smiled, “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, he’s always been an overachiever. He stayed in the UK to join the service when we moved to the States. My mum’s sister was over here and I guess she wanted a fresh start, even if it meant having to leave Liam.”

“Makes sense, I guess he was pretty much an adult by then?”

Killian nodded. “And, well, it all turned out for the best, I suppose. He’s living his dream and I’m… here.”

Emma wrapped her round around her bottle and pulled her elbows onto the table in front of her. She sipped her head, balancing her chin on the mouth of the bottle. She fixed her eyes on a point across the bar.

“It’s funny how life works - all those little things that send you on a path. I mean, I don’t even know who my parents are. They left me in a car seat by this little strip mall in Minnesota. But that’s what set me on the path to becoming who I am.”

He opened his mouth to offer a few sympathetic platitudes but she sat up, holding up her hand to stop him.

“It’s okay, I dealt with that a long time ago. But I guess what I’m also trying to say is that I know what it’s like to have those who you should be able to count on, abandon you.”

This time, he didn’t attempt to say anything, instead he picked up his bottle and tipped it against hers and they both took a long draw.

Suddenly, Emma felt self conscious about how much she had revealed of her sad past. Was it too much? Did she need to tell him? She didn’t tell many people for a reason. Licking her lips, she made to stand. “Another?” she asked, pointing at his beer, waiting for his nod before she stood and went to the bar.

She tapped her toe as she waited for the drinks to be served, adding them to their tab as she smoothed her hair behind her ears.

_It had been years since she had told anyone new about how she was found._

(How she’d been _left_.)

It was the judgement she feared the most. In grade school, some kids had been so cruel.

_‘Your mommy didn’t want you.’_

_‘Loser foster kid.’_

_‘You’re nothing - no one wants you.’_

When you’re little and just seeking acceptance in the world, those words leave deep wounds. Even as an adult, it was the pitying glances she hated the most.

Still, she’d made it. _She’d survived._ She needed no one's sympathy.

Back at the table, Killian watched her linger at the bar a few moments longer than she needed to. He wasn’t quite sure what had caused her to get up so abruptly. He felt the chasm between them open a little wider. He valued what she had shared but didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by drawing out the conversation.

Finally, he watched as she turned around and strode back to their booth.

“Thanks,” he whispered as she handed him the beer, hands brushing against each other again, Killian gasping softly at the skin on skin sensation which was so rare to him nowadays, even on such an innocent level. Their eyes locked for a brief moment. “And not just for the beer. Don’t think I am not aware how hard it is to share like that,” he added.

Emma gave a perfunctory nod. She wasn’t ready to say much more about her past right now, but she felt they had reached some kind of understanding about just what had made the other who they were. And that maybe they had a little more in common than she had anticipated with their messed up youths.

Wanting to break the film of tension that had formed, Killian tried to think of something to say. But then she looked up at him with her reddening cheeks and his mind went blank. So instead he tipped his bottle against hers one more time.

“To your first case.”

“Yeah,” she smiled, grateful that he hadn’t asked anything else about the ‘sad childhood of Emma Swan’. She was surprised, for sure. She’d expected him to at least pry a bit more about the details. Most people would. Then she began to wonder if any of her first impressions of Killian Jones would remain by the end of this assignment. Because the aloof, defensive man she had met that first morning in Regina Mill’s office, seemed as much of a construction of her own prejudices, as it was a reflection of his initial behavior towards her.  And right now she wasn’t entirely sure what to think.

\--/--

The next morning was crisp with the bite of sea air from the nearby docks. Emma pulled on a pair of woolen cigarette pants and a thin sweater that she topped with her favorite oxblood leather jacket. She did miss being able to wear jeans every day. Clothing choice hadn’t been a big consideration when working in bail bonds.

Not that she would give this up for anything.

After a quick breakfast of the best pancakes she had tasted in years, the pair headed over to the newspaper offices where they met the editor Sydney Glass. He was a kindly older man who told them he ran the weekly paper pretty much single handedly as editor and main writer. He was able to look at the lettertype that had signaled the match and confirmed it was a unique font that the paper had been using since its founding almost 100 years prior. He was also able to tell them that the _Mirror_ had an intern that past summer who had set up a website for the paper and begun the process of digitizing past editions.

Well, that explained why the search was only now picking up the connection to _The Storybrooke Mirror_. Emma showed Mr. Glass the blurry security footage that was the only (possible) image of Hyde but he shook his head apologetically.

“Sorry, I don’t get much traffic holed up in this office and most of the stories I cover are community things - bake sales and town hall meetings. I can tell you I don’t recognize him from the locals and everyone here pretty much knows everyone else.”

Frowning, Emma had slid the pictures back into the evidence file they had brought with them. It was so frustrating, they had driven all this way for seemingly no purpose. The editor had nothing further to add to what they already knew.

“Is there anyone else in town you can advise us to speak with? We have driven a long way.”

Jones question was quickly answered with a nod. “Why yes, Belle French, our town librarian. She runs the archives too.”

They thanked Mr. Glass and left the newspaper offices, then headed straight for the town library which was conveniently located across the road.

“Small town,” Killian had shrugged as they approached the wood and glass entrance… which was firmly locked. Emma groaned in frustration.

“Small town,” Killian repeated, this time with a smile that she couldn’t help but reciprocate.

Turned out the library didn’t open until 1pm on Mondays, which Emma found odd but who was she to judge the customs of this place? She looked at her watch. That meant almost an hour to wait.

“Coffee?” Killian shrugged.

“Yeah,” she agreed, hoping that a milky coffee might soothe the headache that had started to swirl behind her eyes.

Luckily, Granny’s did take out cups. The ten minute walk back to the diner was spent discussing what angle to take with the librarian and running through a list of questions they could ask. Drinks in hand, the pair sat outside the diner and enjoyed the bright morning sunshine. The lack of clouds had given the day a cool breeze but had also provided a stunning blue sky alongside it.

“It’s so quiet here,” he observed a few minutes after they had sat.

“Small town,” she teased, and he smiled into his paper cup. “Kinda reminds me of the places I used to live as a kid. I got bounced around a lot of different homes but most were in little towns like this - where you wouldn’t go unless you had good reason.”

“Do you prefer the city?” he asked with genuine interest, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the small metal table between them.

She took a deep breathing, thinking on his question. “I like the anonymity. I’m a pretty private person and living in Boston makes it easy to keep that up.”

“Same,” he nodded, remembering having those exact same thoughts on the drive here. “I’m not overly fond of everyone knowing my business.”

“I hear you there,” she hummed, lifting up her coffee in agreement. “I mean, not that I have much business to tell.”

“Oh?”

She blushed, not having quite intended on turning the conversation personal. “You know, work, eat, sleep, repeat. That’s my life. Not very interesting.”

His breath caught in his throat. What was she revealing to him?

He couldn’t help himself but ask-

“So no special someone?”

“No,” she laughed, shaking her head. “No men for a long time. A long, long time.”

“Same,” he nodded, which made her raise her brows. “I mean women. I’m not gay… not that there’s anything wrong with being attracted to the same sex, it’s just I-”

“Calm down Killian, I was just teasing.”

He bit his lip and nodded softly.

“Has there been anyone for you, you know, since…”

“ _Milah_? No. No one.” He shook his head firmly, his brows pressing together. “And for good reason. I’d make a terrible partner-” he looked up and tipped his head, “In the romantic sense.”

Those words made her start. Why would he think that?

“Well, I think maybe you’re shaping up to be a good one in the FBI partner sense,” she confided.

“Really?”

“Hey now, don’t get cocky. We’re still on thin ice here. But let’s say maybe my first impression of you was a little off.”

He hummed and raised his brows.

“Same, Swan,” he replied, with an enigmatic smile.

They were quiet again as they finished their drinks. Something having shifted a little as they delved into personal matters without the cloak of darkness or alcohol.

She was thankful when she looked at her watch and saw it was almost one.

\--/--

With Belle French, they finally hit some kind of traction.

Emma wanted to kiss the softly spoken librarian when she looked at the fuzzy picture.

“Hmm, well I wasn’t here seven years ago… but he kinda looks like a guy who was here a few weeks back. He didn’t speak much or give his name...never checked anything out,, but was here every morning for about three days.”

“Mr. Glass said you don’t get many visitors around these parts. What was he doing?”

“I’ll show you.”

The pair followed the brunette to the farthest reaches of the library and into a annexed area. It was filled with shelves that were each stuffed to the brim.

“This is our map archive. Storybrooke has one of the the largest collections on the Eastern Seaboard, dating back into the 19th century actually, but we still receive hard copies of all maps of the East coast when they are published. It’s a bit of a pet project for the mayor’s office - a way to put the town on the map. So to speak. We don’t get many tourists in the town, that’s true, but this collection is quite the draw in some circles.”

“And you say he spent all his time here?”

“Far as I could tell.”

“Can we look around?”

“Sure, we’re open until four. You’re free to do what you need until then. If you want any help, just let me know.”

They spent the next few hours thumbing through volumes of shipping maps and tidal forecasts and unravelling heavy, table sized charts. It was a thankless task. Killian didn’t know that they were looking for, but he knew that if he saw it, Hyde’s intentions would become clearer.

Emma was of much the same mindset. They had came all this way, they couldn’t leave without exploring every possible avenue.

But by the time four o’clock arrived, whatever links Hyde had to this town and its library were as mysterious as ever.

\--/--

The walk back to the B&B was tense. Killian used the time to call David and update them on their possible lead. They’d left their contact details with Belle French, should she remember anything else pertinent, and exited the library with more questions than they had started with.

“It could be someone else. I mean, it might not even be Hyde.”

“True,” he’d nodded. “That photo was terrible. It is probably some completely unrelated bloke. But it’s the closest thing to a new lead we have had in… years. We have to follow it up thoroughly.”

“If he was new in town surely someone else must have seen him, you heard what Sydney Glass said.”

“Well we are staying at the only lodgings, maybe we should ask Mrs. Lucas?”

The proprietor, however, drew a blank. The only people who had stayed for the past month were a bunch of fisherman (none of whom bore any possible resemblance to the picture) and a young couple on their honeymoon.

Everywhere they turned there seemed to be a dead end. They discussed having the newspaper print the security footage.

“We’d need clearance for that. But it may jog the memory of someone,” Killian suggested as they headed back to their rooms.

“If the guy was here in the past month and he clearly had some reason to have copies of the newspaper seven years ago - maybe he has a connection with someone in the town?”

“Aye, that’s a fair point. I think we need to discuss this all with Mills and Nolan in person. Whatever we do, we don’t want to reveal this connection to the public too soon.”

They reached the landing that led to their rooms. Emma yawned softly and stretched out her arms. Sitting hunched over a table for most of the afternoon hadn’t been kind to her posture.

“So… who’s driving back?”

Killian grinned before quickly rubbing at his stubbled chin. He’d been postulating over that for the duration of the walk back to the B & B.  “Actually, I was thinking of overnighting it here and leaving in the morning. If that’s agreeable with you.”

Emma cocked her head.

“With the traffic, we’d not get into the city til after ten now. Ashley booked the us in for two nights, we could stay and still make it back to the city before lunch tomorrow.”

Another night here? She had assumed that they would be returning. That maybe she’d drive and this time he’d get to sleep.

He saw the confusion cross her face. “But if you’d rather be back in your own bed-”

“No,” she interrupted, placing a hand on his arm. She was tired. It was a long drive after a mentally exhausting day. And after the little bits she had learned about Killian Jones, she was kinda looking forward to filling in some more of the blank spaces.  “Let’s stay. I’m hungry and tired.”

“Dinner?” he asked. “I’ve a hankering for one of those burgers they serve down in the diner.”

“Sure, just let me freshen up a little, check my email. An hour?”

“Aye,” he agreed.

Then with a soft smile, she slipped into her room, as she found herself pleasantly anticipating another evening in Killian Jones’s company.

\--/--

They halved a grilled cheese and a burger and shared a basket of curly fries between them. Turns out, the reason the diner was popular was because the food was great. And when Killian found that they served generous measures of rum, he was even more glad they had stayed.

And miraculously, Killian Jones was even beginning to relax a little.

Yes, the case was making his shoulders tense and an ache was forming a little at the top of his spine, but when he wasn’t being Agent Jones, when he was just able to sit with Emma and shoot the breeze, everything seemed easier. It was hard to explain, even to himself. But he didn’t want to question it, just enjoy these moments of respite before the return to Boston.

“So,” she began as he sipped on his two fingers of rum, “You told me you had lived in the States since you were a kid. What’s up with the accent? I mean, I had a friend in high school who had moved from Germany when they were like 15 and within six months they were speaking like a true Yankee.”

He nodded, popping a fry into his mouth as he thought on his answer.

“Maybe it’s my way of rebelling?”

“Rebelling?” she asked, taking her own fry and shaking it at him accusatory. “Most kids cut school or shoplift when they do that. I should know…”

He lifted up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. “What can I say? When we got here, mum was finding it hard, missing Liam, trying to sort out work for her visa. And I was flung into the public school system, which was an... interesting experience. I didn’t really have anyone for a long time. I found the whole damn thing hard: new country, new everything. I couldn’t burden my family with my woes. So I did the only thing I could think of to keep some modicum of control. I made a conscious decision to speak like an Englishman.”

“So you were rebelling against...yourself?”

“Against what was expected of me?” He shrugged. “I’m not that great at explaining these things, lass. Dr. Hopper can attest to that after every one of our sessions.”

“Dr. Hopper?”

His face fell at the momentary slip. “The office psychologist,” he explained.

“Oh.”

She stared at the table, not quite sure what else to say. He’d clearly revealed a bit more than he had intended. She looked at the basket of fries. There was only one left. Her hand crept closer to it.

Killian looked up just in time to see Emma snatch the last curly fry and pop it into her mouth.

“Hey!” he cried, “Thief!”

“You gonna arrest me?” she laughed as she chewed.

“I would,” he nodded, with mock seriousness, “But then there would be paperwork to fill out, calls to make… Fry thieves do hard time here in this state.”

Emma pulled a face at him.

“How about a compromise?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m listening.”

“There’s some footie on tonight back at The Rabbit Hole. I was planning on heading there next... I could educate you on the beautiful game? I’ll even buy you a drink.”

He really hadn’t intended on asking her. But he was, despite himself, enjoying her company and when the opportunity arose to extend the evening the words just slipped from his tonight.

“Soccer?”

“Football,” he insisted. “But it is called Major League Soccer. Damn Yanks.”

Rolling her eyes, she swallowed the pilfered fry and replied, “So my punishment is to watch some guys in little shorts chase around a ball? I accept the deal.”

It was only when they were leaving the diner, that both parties began to question just what their motivations were.

\--/--

“Why rum?” she asks during the game intermission.

(‘Half time,” he had told her.)

“Why not?”

He was on his fourth and she on her second. He’d persuaded her to have a bit of the strong stuff after purchasing a bottle.

(“A whole bottle?” she’d said. “Works out cheaper,” he’d shrugged, “It’s not like I have to drink the whole thing.”)

“That’s a lame-ass answer, Jones.”

“Oh, so we are back to our Sunday names now?”

God, he was incorrigible. But she was, despite herself, enjoying his feisty way of turning almost every comment she made back onto her. It was fun.

 _He_ was fun. At least tonight.

“I thought only pirates drank rum.”

“Maybe I am a pirate. I do know how to sail a boat.”

“I’m sure the bureau would have something to say about that.”

“We all have our secrets.” He tapped the side of his nose and she laughed again.

Dammit, her laugh was infectious. He found himself inventing further ways to tease her and draw her into these ridiculous little snippets of banter that he was so enjoying.

“But, if I were a pirate, I’m sure a lass like you would be staying far away from a scoundrel like myself.”

“What on Earth makes you say that?”

“Well you’re… you know.”

“No, I _don’t_ know.”

“You’re one of the good ones. You know, does things right. Keeps on the straight and narrow.”

Scoffing, she tutted loudly. “Look, _Captain,_ I am not some goody-two shoes. I thought we had decided not to judge each other.”

“But you seem so… you know, with wanting to do everything by the book.”

“Because I don’t want to get fired! Because this is the first thing I’ve ever done that I’m actually really proud of. I never said I was perfect.”

Irritated and just a little mellow from the rum, she let herself speak without thinking-

“I was sent to juvie when I was 17.”

This caused Killian to raise his brow and pause with his hand about to undo the cap of the rum.

“Just for eight months,” she added, looking away sheepishly.

“I…”

Since she had told him that much, rum addled Emma decided to go all in. Kinda.

“There was a guy, he… he set me up. Handling stolen goods.”

“Someone you cared for?”

“I thought I did. But what do you know when you are a teenager?”

They were quiet a moment.

She thought about Neal. She wondered where he was now. Whether he was happy. In love.

(Whether he had ever loved her.)

He quickly refilled both glasses and tipped his against hers. “To misspent youth, and all we learned from it.”

Their eyes met as they both emptied the rum into their mouths. She was thankful he didn’t ask any of the questions she could see flashing behind his eyes. An understanding passed between them. They were unwrapping each other, layer by layer, piece by piece. Each giving clues to the bigger mystery of themselves, but not able to reveal too much at once.

The soccer game was about to restart and Killian was thankful for the distraction. Something was hitting a little too close to home.

\--/--

“I drank too much,” she sighed as they approached the B&B.

“No such thing,” Killian laughed, even as his own vision struggled to focus on the exterior door lock enough to insert the key given to him for after hours access. He had the rum bottle in his hand, only about a third left. He was pretty sure he’d regret that in the morning, but right now he couldn’t summon the will to care. The rum had made him relax and spread a pleasant warmth through his body.

Emma watched him as he opened the door, his hand finding placing the key in the lock tricky enough to make her smile at his attempts. When it swung open, he let her step through first.

“Hey, thanks for tonight. I needed it.”

“Me too,” he admitted. “I don’t get much time for letting off steam.”

They made their way up the stairs and paused once more at the patch of landing between their rooms. They stood about a foot apart. Her key dangled expectantly between her fingers. He tucked the bottle under his arm.

“I really am sorry about being such an arse.”

“Tonight?” she asked, scrunching her face up in confusion.

“No, I mean, before. When you started…”

“Now that’s the rum talking,” she chided him, then taking a deep breath and adding, “Bygones. Like we said, clean slate.”

“Clean slate,” he nodded.

“And…” she swallowed, “You may give a lousy first impression Jones, but you aren’t all that bad.”

“Really?” he smiled.

“I already told you, don’t get cocky now. It doesn’t suit you.”

He pursed his lips and bit back a cheeky response.

That was the point where she should say goodnight, she thought. But the rum was pooling in her limbs and making her sway the tiniest bit. She was warm. The light was dim in the silent hallway. Killian was giving her the most peculiar look that she couldn’t pinpoint.

She needed to say goodnight…

‘Um, well-” he cocked his thumb at his door. “I should.”

“Oh, yeah. Me too…”

It took another moment for her to move. During which time she let herself look at Killian Jones full lips and wonder what it would be like to kiss him-

That thought roused her from the rum and after another quick ‘night’ she was unlocking her room and almost slamming the door behind her.

_Why was she thinking about his lips? About kissing him? Killian?_

Emma lay back against the door her heart rate picking up, images of Killian Jones in various states of imagined undress flooding her mind. She pressed her hand against her mouth. These unexpected feelings taking her by surprise… until she considered that most of their conversation tonight could objectively be described as flirtatious. A dangerous flirtation that she had enjoyed and even encouraged.

Undressing, she pulled on her pajamas, the thin walls of her room immediately making her acutely aware of the sounds of him doing the same in the room next door. Slipping into bed, she tried to remind herself of the dozens of reasons why letting herself continue this train of thought was a very, very bad idea.

\--/--

Killian watched the door shut.

That moment… she’d looked like-

Like she wanted to kiss him. Maybe he was imagining the way she had looked at his lips-

(And how her cheeks had flushed and her eyes became hooded-)

And then, he understood that he _wanted_ that: to kiss this woman. To touch her. Hold her.

_Have her._

He didn’t understand where these feelings had came from. He hadn’t sought them out.

He was just being a friend. A good partner. Wasn’t he?

Convincing himself it was the rum talking, he went into his room and set about preparing for bed.

(Of course not imagining what Emma Swan was doing in the room next door).  
  
  
_**A/N: Thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter. And thank you to the best beta - Nickillian/Ztofan.**_  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Something different for me - please let me know what you think :)


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